II (1/3)

von Wilkie Collins

The next event that unfolded was so unusual that it might have left me feeling superstitiously surprised, if I hadn’t steeled myself against such irrational thoughts. The nagging sense that something was amiss in the family, which had made me long to escape Blackwater Park, was oddly followed by my actual departure from the house. True, my absence was only temporary, but I still found the coincidence striking.

Here’s how it happened—

A day or two after all the servants had left, I was called to see Sir Percival again. Despite the unfair criticism he had aimed at my management of the household, I was pleased to find that it didn’t prevent me from responding to his request with the same readiness and respect as before. It took some effort to suppress my feelings, a struggle against that flawed nature we all share, but my training in self-discipline helped me make the sacrifice.

When I arrived, I found Sir Percival and Count Fosco sitting together once more. This time, the Count stayed for the entire meeting and contributed to the discussion of Sir Percival’s plans.

They wanted to talk about the fresh air that we all hoped would benefit Miss Halcombe and Lady Glyde. Sir Percival mentioned that both ladies were likely to spend the autumn at Limmeridge House in Cumberland, courtesy of Frederick Fairlie. However, before they went there, he and Count Fosco believed it would be best for them to first spend some time in the pleasant climate of Torquay. The main goal was to secure accommodations there that would provide the comforts they needed, and the challenge was finding someone experienced enough to select the right place. In light of this, the Count asked if I would be willing to assist the ladies by traveling to Torquay on their behalf.

It was hard for someone in my position to refuse such a request.

I could only express my concern about the serious inconvenience of leaving Blackwater Park with all the indoor servants absent except for Margaret Porcher. But both Sir Percival and the Count insisted they were willing to endure some inconvenience for the sake of the invalids. I then suggested that we write to an agent in Torquay, but I was reminded of the risks involved in renting a place without seeing it first. I was also told that the Countess, who would have gone to Devonshire herself, couldn’t leave Lady Glyde in her current condition, and that Sir Percival and the Count had business to attend to that required them to stay at Blackwater Park. It became clear that if I didn’t take on this task, no one else could be trusted to do it. Given these circumstances, I had no choice but to inform Sir Percival that I was available to assist Miss Halcombe and Lady Glyde.

It was decided that I would leave the next morning, spend a day or two checking out the most suitable houses in Torquay, and return with my findings as soon as possible. His lordship wrote down the requirements for the accommodations I was to find, and Sir Percival added a note about the budget I was allowed to work with.

As I reviewed these instructions, I couldn’t help but think that no place matching the description could possibly exist at any seaside resort in England. Even if such a place could be found, I doubted it would be available under the terms I was allowed to offer. I mentioned these concerns to both gentlemen, but Sir Percival, who responded to me, didn’t seem to share my doubts. It wasn’t my place to argue, so I said no more, though I felt strongly that the task ahead was fraught with challenges that made my mission nearly impossible from the start.

Before I left, I made sure to check on Miss Halcombe’s condition, which seemed to be improving.

Her face was etched with a painful anxiety that made me worry about her state of mind as she began to recover. Yet, she was improving more quickly than I had expected. She managed to send warm messages to Lady Glyde, assuring her that she was on the mend and urging her not to overexert herself too soon.

I left her in the care of Mrs. Rubelle, who remained as quietly self-sufficient as ever. When I knocked on Lady Glyde’s door before leaving, I learned from the Countess, who was keeping her company, that Lady Glyde was still quite weak and downcast. As I was driven away in the chaise, I spotted Sir Percival and the Count walking along the road to the lodge. I nodded to them and left the house, with only Margaret Porcher remaining in the servants’ quarters.

Everyone must have felt, as I did, that the circumstances surrounding us were more than just unusual—they were almost suspicious. However, I must reiterate that, given my dependent position, I had no choice but to act as I did.

My trip to Torquay yielded exactly the results I had anticipated. I couldn’t find any lodgings that matched the instructions I had been given, and the budget I was allowed was far too low to secure anything suitable, even if I had found what I was looking for. I returned to Blackwater Park and informed Sir Percival, who met me at the door, that my journey had been in vain. He seemed preoccupied with something else, barely acknowledging my failure, and instead informed me that another significant change had occurred in the house during my absence.

The Count and Countess Fosco had left Blackwater Park for their new home in St. John’s Wood.

I wasn’t told why they had departed so suddenly—only that the Count had sent his kind regards to me. When I asked Sir Percival if Lady Glyde had anyone to attend to her needs in the Countess’s absence, he replied that Margaret Porcher was there to assist her, and that a woman from the village had been called in to handle the work downstairs.

I was genuinely shocked by his response—allowing a lower-ranking maid to take on the role of Lady Glyde’s personal attendant was utterly inappropriate. I went upstairs immediately and encountered Margaret on the landing. She hadn’t been needed, as Lady Glyde had recovered enough that morning to get out of bed. I inquired about Miss Halcombe, but Margaret’s sulky demeanor left me no wiser.

I decided against asking again, not wanting to provoke a rude reply. It was far more fitting for someone in my position to go directly to Lady Glyde’s room.

When I entered, I saw that she had indeed improved in health over the past few days. Although still weak and nervous, she could get up without help and walk slowly around her room, experiencing only a slight fatigue from the effort. That morning, she had been a bit anxious about Miss Halcombe, having received no news of her. I thought this reflected poorly on Mrs. Rubelle, but I kept my thoughts to myself and stayed with Lady Glyde to help her dress. Once she was ready, we both left the room to find Miss Halcombe.

We were stopped in the hallway by Sir Percival, who seemed to be waiting for us.

“Where are you going?” he asked Lady Glyde.

“To Marian’s room,” she replied.

“It might save you some disappointment if I tell you right away that you won’t find her there,” Sir Percival remarked.

“Not find her there?”

“No. She left the house yesterday morning with Fosco and his wife.”

Lady Glyde went pale at this shocking news, leaning back against the wall in stunned silence, her eyes fixed on her husband.

I was equally astonished, unsure of how to respond. I asked Sir Percival if he truly meant that Miss Halcombe had left Blackwater Park.

“I certainly do,” he confirmed.

“In her condition, Sir Percival! Without informing Lady Glyde of her plans!”

Before he could respond, Lady Glyde regained her composure slightly and spoke up.

“Impossible!” she exclaimed, stepping away from the wall, her voice loud and frightened. “Where was the doctor? Where was Mr. Dawson when Marian left?”

“Mr. Dawson isn’t here, and he wasn’t wanted,” Sir Percival said, his tone dismissive. “He left on his own, which is proof enough that she was strong enough to travel. You look shocked! If you don’t believe she’s gone, see for yourself. Open her room door, and check the other rooms if you want.”

Lady Glyde took his challenge and I followed her. In Miss Halcombe’s room, we found only Margaret Porcher, who was busy tidying up. We checked the spare rooms and dressing rooms afterward, but they were all empty. Sir Percival waited for us in the hallway. As we stepped out of the last room, Lady Glyde leaned in and whispered, “Don’t go, Mrs. Michelson! Please don’t leave me, for God’s sake!” Before I could respond, she was back in the hallway, speaking to her husband.

“What does this mean, Sir Percival? I insist—you must tell me what it means.”

“It means,” he replied, “that Miss Halcombe was strong enough yesterday morning to sit up and get dressed, and she insisted on taking advantage of Fosco going to London to go there herself.”

“To London!”

“Yes—on her way to Limmeridge.”

Lady Glyde turned to me, her eyes pleading.

“You saw Miss Halcombe last,” she said. “Tell me honestly, Mrs. Michelson, did you think she looked fit to travel?”

“Not in my opinion, your ladyship.”

Sir Percival immediately turned to me as well.

“Before you left, did you or did you not tell the nurse that Miss Halcombe looked much stronger and better?”

“I did say that, Sir Percival.”

He addressed Lady Glyde again the moment I answered.

“Consider Mrs. Michelson’s opinions against each other,” he said. “Try to be reasonable about this. If she hadn’t been well enough to travel, do you think we would have let her go? She has three competent people looking after her—Fosco, your aunt, and Mrs. Rubelle, who went with them specifically for that purpose. They took a whole carriage yesterday and made a bed for her on the seat in case she got tired. Today, Fosco and Mrs. Rubelle are going on with her to Cumberland.”

“Why is Marian going to Limmeridge and leaving me here alone?” Lady Glyde interrupted.

“Because your uncle won’t see you until he has seen your sister first,” he replied. “Have you forgotten the letter he wrote to her at the start of her illness? You read it yourself, so you should remember.”

“I do remember it.”

“If you do, why are you surprised she left you? You want to be back at Limmeridge, and she’s gone to get your uncle’s permission for you on his terms.”

Tears filled Lady Glyde’s eyes.

“Marian has never left me without saying goodbye before,” she said.

“She would have said goodbye this time,” Sir Percival replied, “if she hadn’t been afraid of you and of herself. She knew you would try to stop her, that you would distress her with your tears. Do you have any more objections? If you do, you’ll have to come downstairs and ask questions in the dining room. These worries upset me. I need a glass of wine.”

He left us abruptly.

His demeanor throughout this strange conversation had been unlike his usual self. He seemed almost as anxious and unsettled as Lady Glyde. I would never have guessed that his health was so fragile or that he could be so easily rattled.

I tried to persuade Lady Glyde to return to her room, but it was no use. She lingered in the hallway, looking like a woman in a state of panic.

“Something has happened to my sister!” she exclaimed.

“Remember, my lady, how strong Miss Halcombe is,” I suggested. “She might be capable of making an effort that others in her situation wouldn’t be able to manage. I truly hope and believe there’s nothing wrong.”

“I have to follow Marian,” she insisted, her panic evident. “I must go where she has gone; I need to see that she is alive and well with my own eyes. Come! Let’s go downstairs to Sir Percival.”

I hesitated, worried that my presence might be seen as an intrusion. I tried to express this to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She grasped my arm tightly, pulling me down the stairs with her, and held on to me with all the strength she had when I opened the dining room door.

Sir Percival was seated at the table with a decanter of wine in front of him. He raised the glass to his lips as we entered and drained it in one go. When he looked at me with irritation as he set the glass down, I attempted to apologize for my unexpected presence in the room.

“Do you think there are any secrets going on here?” he suddenly asked, his voice sharp. “There aren’t any—there’s nothing hidden, nothing kept from you or anyone else.” After saying those strange words with a loud, stern tone, he poured himself another glass of wine and turned to Lady Glyde. “What do you need from me?”

“If my sister is well enough to travel, then I am too,” Lady Glyde replied, her voice firmer than it had been before. “I’m here to ask you to consider my worry about Marian and let me follow her on the afternoon train.”

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Sir Percival said. “If you don’t hear otherwise, you can go then. I doubt you’ll hear anything different, so I’ll write to Fosco tonight.”

He said this while holding his glass up to the light, studying the wine instead of looking at Lady Glyde. In fact, he didn’t glance at her once during their conversation. I found his lack of courtesy, especially for a man of his status, quite unsettling.

“Why are you writing to Count Fosco?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“To let him know to expect you on the midday train,” Sir Percival replied. “He’ll meet you at the station when you arrive in London and take you to your aunt’s place in St. John’s Wood for the night.”

Lady Glyde’s hand began to tremble violently around my arm, and I couldn’t understand why.

“There’s no need for Count Fosco to meet me,” she said. “I’d prefer not to stay in London overnight.”

“You have to. You can’t make the whole trip to Cumberland in one day. You need to rest in London for the night—and I won’t let you go to a hotel by yourself. Fosco offered your uncle a place to stay on the way down, and your uncle accepted it. Here! Here’s a letter from him addressed to you. I should have sent it this morning, but I forgot. Read it and see what Mr. Fairlie says.”

Lady Glyde glanced at the letter for a moment before handing it to me.

“Read it,” she said faintly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t read it myself.”

The note was only four lines long—so brief and careless that it struck me. If I remember correctly, it said:

“Dearest Laura, Please come whenever you like. Break the journey by sleeping at your aunt’s house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian’s illness. Affectionately yours, Frederick Fairlie.”

“I’d rather not go there—I’d rather not stay a night in London,” her ladyship said eagerly, interrupting me before I finished reading the note. “Please, please don’t write to Count Fosco!”

Sir Percival poured another glass from the decanter so clumsily that he spilled wine all over the table. “My eyesight seems to be failing me,” he muttered to himself in a strange, muffled tone. He set the glass upright, refilled it, and drank it down in one go. I began to worry that the wine was affecting him more than it should.

“Please don’t write to Count Fosco,” Lady Glyde insisted, her voice more urgent than ever.

“Why not?” Sir Percival snapped, his anger surprising us both. “Where else would you stay in London but at your uncle’s chosen place—your aunt’s house? Ask Mrs. Michelson.”

The arrangement he proposed was undoubtedly the right one, and I couldn’t find any reason to object. While I sympathized with Lady Glyde in many ways, I couldn’t share her unjust biases against Count Fosco. I had never met a woman of her status who was so sadly narrow-minded about foreigners. Neither her uncle’s note nor Sir Percival’s growing impatience seemed to sway her. She continued to resist the idea of staying in London, pleading with her husband not to contact the Count.

“Enough!” Sir Percival said, rudely turning his back on us. “If you don’t have the sense to know what’s best for you, then others will decide for you. The plan is set, and that’s final. You just need to do what Miss Halcombe did before you—”

“Marian?” Lady Glyde echoed, bewildered. “Marian slept in Count Fosco’s house?”

“Yes, in Count Fosco’s house. She stayed there last night to break the journey, and you’re to follow her example and do what your uncle says. You’ll sleep at Fosco’s tomorrow night, just like your sister did, to break the journey. Don’t make this harder for me! Don’t make me regret letting you go at all!”

He jumped to his feet and abruptly walked out onto the verandah through the open glass doors.

“Will your ladyship excuse me,” I whispered, “if I suggest we shouldn’t wait here for Sir Percival to return? I’m quite worried he’s had too much to drink.”

She agreed to leave the room, her demeanor weary and distant.

As soon as we were safely upstairs again, I did my best to calm Lady Glyde’s nerves. I reminded her that Mr. Fairlie’s letters to Miss Halcombe and to her did indeed support the course of action we had taken, and that it was necessary, sooner or later. She agreed, even acknowledging that both letters were entirely in line with her uncle’s peculiar nature. Yet, her worries about Miss Halcombe and her inexplicable fear of sleeping at the Count’s house in London remained unshaken, despite all my reassurances. I felt it was my duty to speak up against Lady Glyde’s negative view of the Count, and I did so with the respect she deserved.

“Your ladyship will forgive my boldness,” I said gently, “but it’s often said, ‘by their fruits you shall know them.’ I truly believe the Count’s constant kindness and attention since Miss Halcombe fell ill deserve our trust and respect. Even his serious disagreement with Mr. Dawson stemmed from his concern for Miss Halcombe.”

“What disagreement?” she asked, suddenly intrigued.

I explained the unfortunate circumstances that led Mr. Dawson to withdraw his care, feeling compelled to share this since I disapproved of Sir Percival’s decision to keep it from Lady Glyde.

Her ladyship jumped up, visibly more agitated and alarmed by what I had revealed.

“Worse! Worse than I thought!” she exclaimed, pacing the room in a daze. “The Count knew Mr. Dawson would never allow Marian to travel—he deliberately insulted the doctor to force him out of the house.”

“Oh, my lady! Please!” I protested.

“Mrs. Michelson!” she continued passionately, “I refuse to believe that my sister is in that man’s power and in that man’s house willingly. My horror of him is so profound that nothing Sir Percival could say, and no letters from my uncle, would convince me to eat, drink, or sleep under his roof if I were only considering my own feelings. But my unbearable worry about Marian gives me the courage to follow her anywhere, even into Count Fosco’s house.”

At that moment, I thought it was important to mention that Miss Halcombe had already gone on to Cumberland, according to Sir Percival’s account.

“I can’t believe it!” she replied. “I fear she’s still in that man’s house. If I’m wrong, if she really has gone to Limmeridge, I swear I won’t sleep under Count Fosco’s roof tomorrow night. My dearest friend, next to my sister, lives near London. You’ve heard me and Miss Halcombe speak of Mrs. Vesey? I plan to write to her and ask if I can stay at her house. I don’t know how I’ll get there—I don’t know how I’ll avoid the Count—but I’ll find a way to escape to that refuge if my sister has gone to Cumberland. All I ask is that you ensure my letter to Mrs. Vesey goes to London tonight, just as Sir Percival’s letter goes to Count Fosco. I have my reasons for not trusting the post-bag downstairs. Will you keep my secret and help me with this? It may be the last favor I ever ask of you.”

I hesitated, finding the situation strange and fearing that Lady Glyde’s mind might be affected by her recent anxiety and suffering. However, I ultimately agreed, knowing that if the letter had been addressed to anyone else, or to a stranger, I might have refused. I thank God—considering what happened later—that I never thwarted any of Lady Glyde’s wishes during her last days at Blackwater Park.

The letter was written and handed to me. I personally dropped it into the postbox in the village that evening.

We didn’t see Sir Percival for the rest of the day.

That night, at Lady Glyde’s request, I slept in the room next to hers, with the door open between us. The loneliness and emptiness of the house felt so strange and frightening that I was grateful to have her nearby. She stayed up late, reading letters, burning them, and emptying her drawers and cabinets of cherished items, as if she never expected to return to Blackwater Park. When she finally went to bed, her sleep was restless; she cried out several times, once so loudly that she woke herself. Whatever her dreams were, she chose not to share them with me. Perhaps, given the circumstances, I had no right to expect her to do so. It hardly matters now. I felt deeply sorry for her, truly heartbroken for her all the same.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. After breakfast, Sir Percival came to find us, announcing that the carriage would be ready at a quarter to twelve. The train to London was scheduled to arrive at our station twenty minutes after that. He informed Lady Glyde that he had to step out but hoped to return before she departed. If anything unexpected delayed him, I was to accompany her to the station and ensure she caught her train on time. He rushed through these instructions, pacing the room as he spoke. Lady Glyde watched him closely, but he never glanced back at her.

Once he finished, she reached out her hand to stop him as he approached the door.

“I won’t see you again,” she said, her tone heavy with meaning. “This is our farewell—perhaps forever. Will you try to forgive me, Percival, as I forgive you?”

His face drained of color, turning a ghostly white, and beads of sweat formed on his bald forehead. “I will come back,” he replied, making a hasty exit, as if her words had startled him.

I had never been fond of Sir Percival, but the way he left Lady Glyde filled me with shame for having served him. I considered offering her some comforting words, but the expression on her face as she watched him leave made me rethink and stay silent.

At the appointed time, the carriage arrived at the gates. Lady Glyde was right—Sir Percival never returned. I waited until the last possible moment, but he did not show.

I didn’t have any formal responsibility, yet unease settled in my mind. “You’re going to London of your own choice, aren’t you?” I asked as the carriage rolled through the lodge gates.

“I’ll go anywhere,” she replied, “to escape this dreadful suspense I’m feeling right now.”

Her anxiety about Miss Halcombe was contagious, and I found myself equally worried. I asked her to send me a note if everything went well in London. “I’ll do that, Mrs. Michelson,” she said, her tone willing but distant.

“We all have our burdens to bear, my lady,” I said, noticing her silence and deep thoughts after she promised to write.

She didn’t respond, lost in her own world.

“I fear you didn’t sleep well last night,” I ventured after a moment.

“Yes,” she said, “I was troubled by dreams.”

“Really, my lady?” I thought she might share them, but instead, she asked another question.

“You posted the letter to Mrs. Vesey yourself?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Did Sir Percival mention that Count Fosco would meet me at the terminus in London?”

“He did, my lady.”

She sighed heavily at my answer and fell silent again.

We arrived at the station with barely two minutes to spare. The gardener, who had driven us, managed the luggage while I took care of the ticket. The train whistle blew just as I joined Lady Glyde on the platform. She looked unusually pale and pressed her hand to her chest, as if struck by sudden pain or fear.

“I wish you were coming with me!” she exclaimed, grabbing my arm eagerly as I handed her the ticket.

If there had been time, if I had felt the same way the day before as I did then, I would have arranged to accompany her, even if it meant giving Sir Percival notice right then and there. But her last-minute request came too late for me to act on it. She seemed to sense this before I could explain, and she didn’t repeat her wish for me to join her. The train pulled into the station, and she gave the gardener a small gift for his children before taking my hand in her warm, genuine way.

“You’ve been so kind to me and my sister,” she said. “You were there for us when we had no one else. I’ll remember you with gratitude for as long as I live. Goodbye—and God bless you!”