The Woman in White

Chapter 4

Leaving by an early train, I got to Limmeridge in time for dinner.

The house was oppressively empty and dull. I had expected that

good Mrs. Vesey would have been company for me in the absence of

the young ladies, but she was confined to her room by a cold. The

servants were so surprised at seeing me that they hurried and

bustled absurdly, and made all sorts of annoying mistakes. Even

the butler, who was old enough to have known better, brought me a

bottle of port that was chilled. The reports of Mr. Fairlie's

health were just as usual, and when I sent up a message to

announce my arrival, I was told that he would be delighted to see

me the next morning but that the sudden news of my appearance had

prostrated him with palpitations for the rest of the evening. The

wind howled dismally all night, and strange cracking and groaning

noises sounded here, there, and everywhere in the empty house. I

slept as wretchedly as possible, and got up in a mighty bad humour

to breakfast by myself the next morning.

At ten o'clock I was conducted to Mr. Fairlie's apartments. He

was in his usual room, his usual chair, and his usual aggravating

state of mind and body. When I went in, his valet was standing

before him, holding up for inspection a heavy volume of etchings,

as long and as broad as my office writing-desk. The miserable

foreigner grinned in the most abject manner, and looked ready to

drop with fatigue, while his master composedly turned over the

etchings, and brought their hidden beauties to light with the help

of a magnifying glass.

"You very best of good old friends," said Mr. Fairlie, leaning

back lazily before he could look at me, "are you QUITE well? How

nice of you to come here and see me in my solitude. Dear

Gilmore!"

I had expected that the valet would be dismissed when I appeared,

but nothing of the sort happened. There he stood, in front of his

master's chair, trembling under the weight of the etchings, and

there Mr. Fairlie sat, serenely twirling the magnifying glass

between his white fingers and thumbs.

"I have come to speak to you on a very important matter," I said,

"and you will therefore excuse me, if I suggest that we had better

be alone."

The unfortunate valet looked at me gratefully. Mr. Fairlie

faintly repeated my last three words, "better be alone," with

every appearance of the utmost possible astonishment.

I was in no humour for trifling, and I resolved to make him

understand what I meant.

"Oblige me by giving that man permission to withdraw," I said,

pointing to the valet.

Mr. Fairlie arched his eyebrows and pursed up his lips in

sarcastic surprise.

"Man?" he repeated. "You provoking old Gilmore, what can you

possibly mean by calling him a man? He's nothing of the sort. He

might have been a man half an hour ago, before I wanted my

etchings, and he may be a man half an hour hence, when I don't

want them any longer. At present he is simply a portfolio stand.

Why object, Gilmore, to a portfolio stand?"

"I DO object. For the third time, Mr. Fairlie, I beg that we may

be alone."

My tone and manner left him no alternative but to comply with my

request. He looked at the servant, and pointed peevishly to a

chair at his side.

"Put down the etchings and go away," he said. "Don't upset me by

losing my place. Have you, or have you not, lost my place? Are

you sure you have not? And have you put my hand-bell quite within

my reach? Yes? Then why the devil don't you go?"

The valet went out. Mr. Fairlie twisted himself round in his

chair, polished the magnifying glass with his delicate cambric

handkerchief, and indulged himself with a sidelong inspection of

the open volume of etchings. It was not easy to keep my temper

under these circumstances, but I did keep it.

"I have come here at great personal inconvenience," I said, "to

serve the interests of your niece and your family, and I think I

have established some slight claim to be favoured with your

attention in return."

"Don't bully me!" exclaimed Mr. Fairlie, falling back helplessly

in the chair, and closing his eyes. "Please don't bully me. I'm

not strong enough."

I was determined not to let him provoke me, for Laura Fairlie's

sake.

"My object," I went on, "is to entreat you to reconsider your

letter, and not to force me to abandon the just rights of your

niece, and of all who belong to her. Let me state the case to you

once more, and for the last time."

Mr. Fairlie shook his head and sighed piteously.

"This is heartless of you, Gilmore--very heartless," he said.

"Never mind, go on."

I put all the points to him carefully--I set the matter before him

in every conceivable light. He lay back in the chair the whole

time I was speaking with his eyes closed. When I had done he

opened them indolently, took his silver smelling-bottle from the

table, and sniffed at it with an air of gentle relish.

"Good Gilmore!" he said between the sniffs, "how very nice this is

of you! How you reconcile one to human nature!"

"Give me a plain answer to a plain question, Mr. Fairlie. I tell

you again, Sir Percival Glyde has no shadow of a claim to expect

more than the income of the money. The money itself if your niece

has no children, ought to be under her control, and to return to

her family. If you stand firm, Sir Percival must give way--he

must give way, I tell you, or he exposes himself to the base

imputation of marrying Miss Fairlie entirely from mercenary

motives."

Mr. Fairlie shook the silver smelling-bottle at me playfully.

"You dear old Gilmore, how you do hate rank and family, don't you?

How you detest Glyde because he happens to be a baronet. What a

Radical you are--oh, dear me, what a Radical you are!"

A Radical!!! I could put up with a good deal of provocation, but,

after holding the soundest Conservative principles all my life, I

could NOT put up with being called a Radical. My blood boiled at

it--I started out of my chair--I was speechless with Indignation.

"Don't shake the room!" cried Mr. Fairlie--"for Heaven's sake

don't shake the room! Worthiest of all possible Gilmores, I meant

no offence. My own views are so extremely liberal that I think I

am a Radical myself. Yes. We are a pair of Radicals. Please

don't be angry. I can't quarrel--I haven't stamina enough. Shall

we drop the subject? Yes. Come and look at these sweet etchings.

Do let me teach you to understand the heavenly pearliness of these

lines. Do now, there's a good Gilmore!"

While he was maundering on in this way I was, fortunately for my

own self-respect, returning to my senses. When I spoke again I

was composed enough to treat his impertinence with the silent

contempt that it deserved.

"You are entirely wrong, sir," I said, "in supposing that I speak

from any prejudice against Sir Percival Glyde. I may regret that

he has so unreservedly resigned himself in this matter to his

lawyer's direction as to make any appeal to himself impossible,

but I am not prejudiced against him. What I have said would

equally apply to any other man in his situation, high or low. The

principle I maintain is a recognised principle. If you were to

apply at the nearest town here, to the first respectable solicitor

you could find, he would tell you as a stranger what I tell you as

a friend. He would inform you that it is against all rule to

abandon the lady's money entirely to the man she marries. He

would decline, on grounds of common legal caution, to give the

husband, under any circumstances whatever, an interest of twenty

thousand pounds in his wife's death."

"Would he really, Gilmore?" said Mr. Fairlie. "If he said

anything half so horrid, I do assure you I should tinkle my bell

for Louis, and have him sent out of the house immediately."

"You shall not irritate me, Mr. Fairlie--for your niece's sake and

for her father's sake, you shall not irritate me. You shall take

the whole responsibility of this discreditable settlement on your

own shoulders before I leave the room."

"Don't!--now please don't!" said Mr. Fairlie. "Think how precious

your time is, Gilmore, and don't throw it away. I would dispute

with you if I could, but I can't--I haven't stamina enough. You

want to upset me, to upset yourself, to upset Glyde, and to upset

Laura; and--oh, dear me!--all for the sake of the very last thing

in the world that is likely to happen. No, dear friend, in the

interests of peace and quietness, positively No!"

"I am to understand, then, that you hold by the determination

expressed in your letter?"

"Yes, please. So glad we understand each other at last. Sit down

again--do!"

I walked at once to the door, and Mr. Fairlie resignedly "tinkled"

his hand-bell. Before I left the room I turned round and

addressed him for the last time.

"Whatever happens in the future, sir," I said, "remember that my

plain duty of warning you has been performed. As the faithful

friend and servant of your family, I tell you, at parting, that no

daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such a

settlement as you are forcing me to make for Miss Fairlie."

The door opened behind me, and the valet stood waiting on the

threshold.

"Louis," said Mr. Fairlie, "show Mr. Gilmore out, and then come

back and hold up my etchings for me again. Make them give you a

good lunch downstairs. Do, Gilmore, make my idle beasts of

servants give you a good lunch!"

I was too much disgusted to reply--I turned on my heel, and left

him in silence. There was an up train at two o'clock in the

afternoon, and by that train I returned to London.

On the Tuesday I sent in the altered settlement, which practically

disinherited the very persons whom Miss Fairlie's own lips had

informed me she was most anxious to benefit. I had no choice.

Another lawyer would have drawn up the deed if I had refused to

undertake it.

My task is done. My personal share in the events of the family

story extends no farther than the point which I have just reached.

Other pens than mine will describe the strange circumstances which

are now shortly to follow. Seriously and sorrowfully I close this

brief record. Seriously and sorrowfully I repeat here the parting

words that I spoke at Limmeridge House:--No daughter of mine

should have been married to any man alive under such a settlement

as I was compelled to make for Laura Fairlie.

The End of Mr. Gilmore's Narrative.