VI (2/2)

by Wilkie Collins

“Laura, you asked what fear she was so fixated on, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did she say?”

“She turned the question back on me, asking if I wouldn’t be afraid of a man who had locked me away in a mental institution and would do it again if he had the chance. I replied, ‘Are you still afraid? You wouldn’t be here if you were afraid now, would you?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m not afraid now.’ I pressed her for the reason. Suddenly, she leaned forward into the boat-house and asked, ‘Can’t you guess why?’ I shook my head. ‘Look at me,’ she insisted. I told her I was saddened to see how sorrowful and unwell she looked. For the first time, she smiled. ‘Unwell?’ she echoed. ‘I’m dying. You know why I’m not afraid of him now. Do you think I’ll see your mother in heaven? Will she forgive me if I do?’ I was so taken aback that I couldn’t respond. ‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ she continued, ‘the entire time I’ve been hiding from your husband, all the time I’ve been sick. My thoughts have led me here—I want to make amends—I want to undo as much of the harm I caused as I can.’ I urged her as sincerely as I could to explain what she meant. She continued to gaze at me with vacant eyes. ‘SHOULD I undo the harm?’ she murmured to herself, uncertainly. ‘You have friends who will stand by you. If YOU know his Secret, he will fear you; he won’t dare treat you the way he treated me. He has to be merciful to you for his own sake if he’s afraid of you and your friends. And if he’s merciful, and if I can say it was my doing—’ I leaned in, eager for more, but she fell silent.”

“You tried to get her to continue?”

“I did, but she pulled away from me again, resting her face and arms against the side of the boat-house. ‘Oh!’ I heard her say, her voice filled with a haunting tenderness, ‘if only I could be buried with your mother! If only I could wake up beside her when the angel’s trumpet sounds and the graves give up their dead at the resurrection!’—Marian! I trembled all over; it was chilling to hear her. ‘But there’s no hope for that,’ she said, shifting slightly to look at me again, ‘no hope for a poor stranger like me. I won’t rest under the marble cross that I washed with my own hands, making it so white and pure for her sake. Oh no! Oh no! God’s mercy, not man’s, will take me to her, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary find rest.’ She spoke those words quietly and sorrowfully, with a heavy, hopeless sigh, then paused. Her expression was troubled, as if she were trying to think. ‘What was I saying just now?’ she asked after a moment. ‘When your mother is on my mind, everything else fades away. What was I saying? What was I saying?’ I gently reminded her, as kindly as I could. ‘Ah, yes, yes,’ she replied, still looking lost and confused. ‘You’re helpless with your cruel husband. Yes. And I must do what I came here to do—I must make it up to you for being too afraid to speak out at a better time.’ ‘What is it you have to tell me?’ I asked. ‘The Secret your cruel husband fears,’ she answered. ‘I once threatened him with the Secret and scared him. You should threaten him with the Secret too.’ Her expression darkened, and a fierce, angry look settled in her eyes. She began waving her hand at me in a vacant, meaningless way. ‘My mother knows the Secret,’ she said. ‘My mother has wasted half her life under the Secret. One day, when I was grown, she told me something. And the next day, your husband—’”

“Yes! Yes! Go on. What did she tell you about your husband?”

“She stopped again, Marian, at that point—”

“And said nothing more?”

“And listened intently. ‘Hush!’ she whispered, still waving her hand at me. ‘Hush!’ She slipped away from the doorway, moving slowly and stealthily, until I lost sight of her behind the edge of the boat-house.”

“Surely you followed her?”

“Yes, my worry gave me the courage to rise and follow her. Just as I reached the entrance, she suddenly appeared again around the side of the boat-house. ‘The Secret,’ I whispered to her—‘wait and tell me the Secret!’ She grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Not now,’ she said, ‘we’re not alone—we’re being watched. Come back here tomorrow at this time—by yourself—remember—by yourself.’ She pushed me back into the boat-house, and I never saw her again.”

“Oh, Laura, Laura, another chance lost! If only I had been there, she wouldn’t have escaped us. Which way did you lose sight of her?”

“On the left side, where the ground dips and the trees are thickest.”

“Did you run out again? Did you call after her?”

“How could I? I was too terrified to move or speak.”

“But when you did move—when you came out?”

“I ran back here to tell you what had happened.”

“Did you see anyone or hear anyone in the woods?”

“No, it seemed completely still and quiet as I passed through.”

I paused for a moment to think. Was this third person, who was supposedly secretly present during the interview, real, or just a figment of Anne Catherick’s excited imagination? It was impossible to tell. The one thing I knew for sure was that we had failed once again, right at the edge of a breakthrough—failed completely and irretrievably, unless Anne Catherick kept her appointment at the boathouse the next day.

“Are you absolutely sure you’ve told me everything that happened? Every word that was said?” I asked.

“I think so,” she replied. “My memory isn’t as sharp as yours, Marian. But I was so struck by everything, so deeply engaged, that I can’t imagine anything important slipped my mind.”

“My dear Laura, even the smallest details can matter when it comes to Anne Catherick. Think again. Did she mention anything about where she’s living now?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Did she mention a friend or companion—a woman named Mrs. Clements?”

“Oh yes! I forgot about that. She said Mrs. Clements really wanted to go with her to the lake to take care of her and begged her not to venture into this area alone.”

“Was that all she said about Mrs. Clements?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“She didn’t tell you anything about where she went after leaving Todd’s Corner?”

“Nothing—I’m sure of it.”

“Nor where she’s been living since? Or what her illness was?”

“No, Marian, not a word. Please, tell me what you think. I don’t know what to think or what to do next.”

“You must do this, my love: You have to keep your appointment at the boathouse tomorrow. We can’t know what might depend on you seeing that woman again. You won’t be alone this time. I’ll follow you at a safe distance. No one will see me, but I’ll be close enough to hear you if anything happens. Anne Catherick has evaded Walter Hartright and you. Whatever happens, she won’t escape ME.”

Laura looked at me intently.

“You believe in this secret that my husband is afraid of? What if it only exists in Anne Catherick’s imagination? What if she just wants to see me and talk about old times? Her behavior was so strange—I almost doubted her. Would you trust her in other matters?”

“I trust nothing but my own observations of your husband’s actions. I judge Anne Catherick’s words by what he does, and I believe there is a secret.”

I didn’t say anything more and stood up to leave the room. My mind was troubled with thoughts I might have shared with her if we had talked longer, and it might have been dangerous for her to know. The weight of the terrible dream that had woken me hung heavily over every new impression her story left on me. I felt an ominous future looming closer, chilling me with an unshakeable dread, forcing me to believe in an unseen design behind the complex web that had ensnared us. I thought of Hartright—as I had seen him in person when he said goodbye; as I had seen him in spirit in my dream—and I too began to wonder if we were not blindly heading toward a predetermined and inevitable outcome.

Leaving Laura to go upstairs alone, I stepped outside to explore the paths around the house. The circumstances under which Anne Catherick had parted from Laura made me anxious to know how Count Fosco was spending the afternoon, and I felt a growing distrust about the results of Sir Percival’s solitary journey, from which he had returned just hours earlier.

After searching in every direction and finding nothing, I returned to the house and moved through the various rooms on the ground floor, one after another. They were all empty. I stepped back into the hall and went upstairs to find Laura. As I passed Madame Fosco’s door, she opened it, and I paused to see if she could tell me where her husband and Sir Percival were. Yes, she had seen both of them from her window over an hour ago. The Count had looked up with his usual kindness and mentioned, with his typical attention to detail, that he and his friend were going out for a long walk.

A long walk! In all my time observing them, they had never been together for that purpose. Sir Percival cared for no exercise but riding, and the Count—except when he was polite enough to escort me—had no interest in physical activity at all.

When I rejoined Laura, I found that she had remembered the pressing issue of the signature for the deed, which we had overlooked in our discussion about her meeting with Anne Catherick. Her first words when I saw her expressed her surprise at not having received the expected summons to meet Sir Percival in the library.

“You can relax about that for now,” I said. “At least for the moment, neither your decision nor mine will be put to the test again. Sir Percival has changed his plans—the matter of the signature has been postponed.”

“Postponed?” Laura echoed, clearly surprised. “Who told you that?”

“My source is Count Fosco. I believe we owe your husband’s sudden change of heart to his intervention.”

“That seems impossible, Marian. If the reason for my signing was, as we think, to secure money that Sir Percival urgently needed, how can this be postponed?”

“I think, Laura, we have a way to settle that uncertainty. Do you remember the conversation I overheard between Sir Percival and the lawyer while they were crossing the hall?”

“I remember, but I don’t recall—”

“I do. They discussed two options. One was to get your signature on the document. The other was to buy time by issuing bills due in three months. Clearly, they’ve chosen the latter option, and we can reasonably expect to be free from Sir Percival’s troubles for a while.”

“Oh, Marian, that sounds too good to be true!”

“Does it, my dear? You praised my memory not long ago, but now you seem to doubt it. I’ll get my journal, and you can see if I’m right or wrong.”

I quickly went to fetch the book.

Looking back at the entry about the lawyer’s visit, we confirmed that my recollection of the two options was spot on. It was a relief for both of us to find that my memory had served me well this time. In the precarious uncertainty of our situation, it’s hard to say what future consequences might hinge on the accuracy of my journal entries and the reliability of my memory when I make them.

Laura’s expression suggested that she had considered this point as well. Still, it felt trivial to note down here—it highlights just how desperate our situation is. We must be in dire straits if the realization that my memory can still be trusted feels like discovering a new ally!

The first dinner bell rang, interrupting us. Just as it finished, Sir Percival and the Count returned from their walk. We heard the master of the house scolding the servants for being five minutes late, while his guest stepped in, as usual, to advocate for propriety, patience, and peace.

* * * * * * * * * *

The evening has come and gone without any extraordinary events. However, I noticed some odd behaviors from Sir Percival and the Count that left me feeling anxious about Anne Catherick and what tomorrow might bring.

By now, I’ve learned enough to know that Sir Percival’s most deceptive demeanor—one that suggests the worst—is his overly polite side. That long walk with the Count seemed to have improved his manners, particularly towards Laura. To her secret surprise and my growing alarm, he called her by her first name, asked if she had heard from her uncle recently, inquired when Mrs. Vesey would receive her invitation to Blackwater, and showed her so many little attentions that it almost brought back memories of his loathsome courtship at Limmeridge House. This was a troubling sign, and I found it even more ominous when he pretended to doze off in the drawing room after dinner, his eyes slyly tracking Laura and me when he thought we were oblivious. I’ve never doubted that his sudden solo trip was to Welmingham to question Mrs. Catherick, but tonight’s experience has made me fear that he didn’t go in vain and that he has gathered the information he intended to find. If I knew where Anne Catherick was, I would be up at sunrise tomorrow to warn her.

While Sir Percival’s demeanor tonight was all too familiar, the Count presented himself in a way I had never seen before. This evening, he allowed me to meet him for the first time as a Man of Sentiment—sentiment that I believe he genuinely felt, not just a facade for the occasion.

He was quiet and reserved, his eyes and voice revealing a deep sensitivity. He wore an extravagant waistcoat that seemed to connect his outward appearance with his innermost feelings. It was a stunning pale sea-green silk, delicately trimmed with fine silver braid. His voice softened into gentle tones, and his smile radiated a thoughtful, almost fatherly admiration whenever he spoke to Laura or me.

Under the table, he squeezed his wife’s hand when she thanked him for the little attentions he showed during dinner. He raised a glass with her, saying, “To your health and happiness, my angel!” His eyes sparkled with affection. He barely touched his food, sighed, and chuckled when his friend teased him.

After dinner, he took Laura’s hand and asked if she would be “sweet enough to play for him.” Surprised, she agreed. He settled beside the piano, his watch-chain draped like a golden serpent over the sea-green fabric of his waistcoat. His large head rested lazily to one side as he gently tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the music. He genuinely appreciated the performance, admiring Laura’s playing not with the innocent delight that Hartright used to express, but with a knowledgeable appreciation for both the composition and her skill.

As dusk fell, he requested that the lamps remain off a little longer, not wanting to disturb the lovely fading light. He approached me at the distant window where I stood, trying to avoid him, and asked me to support his wish against the lamps. If I could have found a way to extinguish them myself, I would have.

“Surely you enjoy this gentle, trembling English twilight?” he said softly. “Ah, I love it. It stirs my deep admiration for all that is noble and good, especially on an evening like this. Nature has such lasting beauty, such unquenchable tenderness for me! I’m just an old, heavy man—sentiments that would suit you, Miss Halcombe, sound like mockery coming from me. It’s hard to be laughed at in my moments of feeling, as if my soul were as old and overgrown as I am. Look at the light fading on the trees! Does it touch your heart as it does mine?”

He paused, glanced at me, and recited some famous lines from Dante about twilight, his voice adding a unique charm to the already beautiful poetry.

“Bah!” he exclaimed suddenly, as the last notes of those noble Italian words faded away. “I’m making a fool of myself and boring you all! Let’s close the window on our feelings and return to the real world. Percival! I agree to turn on the lamps. Lady Glyde—Miss Halcombe—Eleanor, my dear wife—who will join me for a game of dominoes?”

He looked at all of us but focused especially on Laura.

She had picked up on my fear of upsetting him and accepted his invitation. I couldn’t have done it at that moment; I wouldn’t have been able to sit at the same table with him for anything. His eyes seemed to penetrate my very soul through the growing darkness. His voice sent shivers through me, making me feel hot and cold at once. The haunting mystery and terror of my dream, which had shadowed me throughout the evening, now weighed heavily on my mind, filling me with an unbearable sense of dread and awe. I saw the white tomb again and the veiled woman rising from it beside Hartright. The thought of Laura surged within me, filling my heart with a bitterness I had never known before.

As she passed me on her way to the table, I grabbed her hand and kissed her as if that night would be our last together. While they all stared at me in surprise, I dashed out through the open window, fleeing into the darkness to escape them—and myself.

We parted that evening later than usual. As midnight approached, the summer stillness was broken by a low, mournful wind rustling through the trees. We all felt the sudden chill in the air, but the Count was the first to notice the wind’s stealthy rise. He paused while lighting my candle, raising a hand in warning.

“Listen!” he said. “There will be a change tomorrow.”