The Woman in White

Chapter 1

I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter

Hartright. They are intended to convey a description of certain

events which seriously affected Miss Fairlie's interests, and

which took place after the period of Mr. Hartright's departure

from Limmeridge House.

There is no need for me to say whether my own opinion does or does

not sanction the disclosure of the remarkable family story, of

which my narrative forms an important component part. Mr.

Hartright has taken that responsibility on himself, and

circumstances yet to be related will show that he has amply earned

the right to do so, if he chooses to exercise it. The plan he has

adopted for presenting the story to others, in the most truthful

and most vivid manner, requires that it should be told, at each

successive stage in the march of events, by the persons who were

directly concerned in those events at the time of their

occurrence. My appearance here, as narrator, is the necessary

consequence of this arrangement. I was present during the sojourn

of Sir Percival Glyde in Cumberland, and was personally concerned

in one important result of his short residence under Mr. Fairlie's

roof. It is my duty, therefore, to add these new links to the

chain of events, and to take up the chain itself at the point

where, for the present only Mr. Hartright has dropped it.

My object was to remain at Mr. Fairlie's until the arrival of Sir

Percival Glyde. If that event led to the appointment of any given

day for Sir Percival's union with Miss Fairlie, I was to take the

necessary instructions back with me to London, and to occupy

myself in drawing the lady's marriage-settlement.

On the Friday I was not favoured by Mr. Fairlie with an interview.

He had been, or had fancied himself to be, an invalid for years

past, and he was not well enough to receive me. Miss Halcombe was

the first member of the family whom I saw. She met me at the

house door, and introduced me to Mr. Hartright, who had been

staying at Limmeridge for some time past.

I did not see Miss Fairlie until later in the day, at dinner-time.

She was not looking well, and I was sorry to observe it. She is a

sweet lovable girl, as amiable and attentive to every one about

her as her excellent mother used to be--though, personally

speaking, she takes after her father. Mrs. Fairlie had dark eyes

and hair, and her elder daughter, Miss Halcombe, strongly reminds

me of her. Miss Fairlie played to us in the evening--not so well

as usual, I thought. We had a rubber at whist, a mere

profanation, so far as play was concerned, of that noble game. I

had been favourably impressed by Mr. Hartright on our first

introduction to one another, but I soon discovered that he was not

free from the social failings incidental to his age. There are

three things that none of the young men of the present generation

can do. They can't sit over their wine, they can't play at whist,

and they can't pay a lady a compliment. Mr. Hartright was no

exception to the general rule. Otherwise, even in those early

days and on that short acquaintance, he struck me as being a

modest and gentlemanlike young man.

So the Friday passed. I say nothing about the more serious

matters which engaged my attention on that day--the anonymous

letter to Miss Fairlie, the measures I thought it right to adopt

when the matter was mentioned to me, and the conviction I

entertained that every possible explanation of the circumstances

would be readily afforded by Sir Percival Glyde, having all been

fully noticed, as I understand, in the narrative which precedes

this.

On the Saturday Mr. Hartright had left before I got down to

breakfast. Miss Fairlie kept her room all day, and Miss Halcombe

appeared to me to be out of spirits. The house was not what it

used to be in the time of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Fairlie. I took a

walk by myself in the forenoon, and looked about at some of the

places which I first saw when I was staying at Limmeridge to

transact family business, more than thirty years since. They were

not what they used to be either.

At two o'clock Mr. Fairlie sent to say he was well enough to see

me. HE had not altered, at any rate, since I first knew him. His

talk was to the same purpose as usual--all about himself and his

ailments, his wonderful coins, and his matchless Rembrandt

etchings. The moment I tried to speak of the business that had

brought me to his house, he shut his eyes and said I "upset" him.

I persisted in upsetting him by returning again and again to the

subject. All I could ascertain was that he looked on his niece's

marriage as a settled thing, that her father had sanctioned it,

that he sanctioned it himself, that it was a desirable marriage,

and that he should be personally rejoiced when the worry of it was

over. As to the settlements, if I would consult his niece, and

afterwards dive as deeply as I pleased into my own knowledge of

the family affairs, and get everything ready, and limit his share

in the business, as guardian, to saying Yes, at the right moment--

why, of course he would meet my views, and everybody else's views,

with infinite pleasure. In the meantime, there I saw him, a

helpless sufferer, confined to his room. Did I think he looked as

if he wanted teasing? No. Then why tease him?

I might, perhaps, have been a little astonished at this

extraordinary absence of all self-assertion on Mr. Fairlie's part,

in the character of guardian, if my knowledge of the family

affairs had not been sufficient to remind me that he was a single

man, and that he had nothing more than a life-interest in the

Limmeridge property. As matters stood, therefore, I was neither

surprised nor disappointed at the result of the interview. Mr.

Fairlie had simply justified my expectations--and there was an end

of it.

Sunday was a dull day, out of doors and in. A letter arrived for

me from Sir Percival Glyde's solicitor, acknowledging the receipt

of my copy of the anonymous letter and my accompanying statement

of the case. Miss Fairlie joined us in the afternoon, looking

pale and depressed, and altogether unlike herself. I had some

talk with her, and ventured on a delicate allusion to Sir

Percival. She listened and said nothing. All other subjects she

pursued willingly, but this subject she allowed to drop. I began

to doubt whether she might not be repenting of her engagement--

just as young ladies often do, when repentance comes too late.

I found him to be a most prepossessing man, so far as manners and

appearance were concerned. He looked rather older than I had

expected, his head being bald over the forehead, and his face

somewhat marked and worn, but his movements were as active and his

spirits as high as a young man's. His meeting with Miss Halcombe

was delightfully hearty and unaffected, and his reception of me,

upon my being presented to him, was so easy and pleasant that we

got on together like old friends. Miss Fairlie was not with us

when he arrived, but she entered the room about ten minutes

afterwards. Sir Percival rose and paid his compliments with

perfect grace. His evident concern on seeing the change for the

worse in the young lady's looks was expressed with a mixture of

tenderness and respect, with an unassuming delicacy of tone,

voice, and manner, which did equal credit to his good breeding and

his good sense. I was rather surprised, under these

circumstances, to see that Miss Fairlie continued to be

constrained and uneasy in his presence, and that she took the

first opportunity of leaving the room again. Sir Percival neither

noticed the restraint in her reception of him, nor her sudden

withdrawal from our society. He had not obtruded his attentions

on her while she was present, and he did not embarrass Miss

Halcombe by any allusion to her departure when she was gone. His

tact and taste were never at fault on this or on any other

occasion while I was in his company at Limmeridge House.

As soon as Miss Fairlie had left the room he spared us all

embarrassment on the subject of the anonymous letter, by adverting

to it of his own accord. He had stopped in London on his way from

Hampshire, had seen his solicitor, had read the documents

forwarded by me, and had travelled on to Cumberland, anxious to

satisfy our minds by the speediest and the fullest explanation

that words could convey. On hearing him express himself to this

effect, I offered him the original letter, which I had kept for

his inspection. He thanked me, and declined to look at it, saying

that he had seen the copy, and that he was quite willing to leave

the original in our hands.

The statement itself, on which he immediately entered, was as

simple and satisfactory as I had all along anticipated it would

be.

Mrs. Catherick, he informed us, had in past years laid him under

some obligations for faithful services rendered to his family

connections and to himself. She had been doubly unfortunate in

being married to a husband who had deserted her, and in having an

only child whose mental faculties had been in a disturbed

condition from a very early age. Although her marriage had

removed her to a part of Hampshire far distant from the

neighbourhood in which Sir Percival's property was situated, he

had taken care not to lose sight of her--his friendly feeling

towards the poor woman, in consideration of her past services,

having been greatly strengthened by his admiration of the patience

and courage with which she supported her calamities. In course of

time the symptoms of mental affliction in her unhappy daughter

increased to such a serious extent, as to make it a matter of

necessity to place her under proper medical care. Mrs. Catherick

herself recognised this necessity, but she also felt the prejudice

common to persons occupying her respectable station, against

allowing her child to be admitted, as a pauper, into a public

Asylum. Sir Percival had respected this prejudice, as he

respected honest independence of feeling in any rank of life, and

had resolved to mark his grateful sense of Mrs. Catherick's early

attachment to the interests of himself and his family, by

defraying the expense of her daughter's maintenance in a

trustworthy private Asylum. To her mother's regret, and to his

own regret, the unfortunate creature had discovered the share

which circumstances had induced him to take in placing her under

restraint, and had conceived the most intense hatred and distrust

of him in consequence. To that hatred and distrust--which had

expressed itself in various ways in the Asylum--the anonymous

letter, written after her escape, was plainly attributable. If

Miss Halcombe's or Mr. Gilmore's recollection of the document did

not confirm that view, or if they wished for any additional

particulars about the Asylum (the address of which he mentioned,

as well as the names and addresses of the two doctors on whose

certificates the patient was admitted), he was ready to answer any

question and to clear up any uncertainty. He had done his duty to

the unhappy young woman, by instructing his solicitor to spare no

expense in tracing her, and in restoring her once more to medical

care, and he was now only anxious to do his duty towards Miss

Fairlie and towards her family, in the same plain, straightforward

way.

I was the first to speak in answer to this appeal. My own course

was plain to me. It is the great beauty of the Law that it can

dispute any human statement, made under any circumstances, and

reduced to any form. If I had felt professionally called upon to

set up a case against Sir Percival Glyde, on the strength of his

own explanation, I could have done so beyond all doubt. But my

duty did not lie in this direction--my function was of the purely

judicial kind. I was to weigh the explanation we had just heard,

to allow all due force to the high reputation of the gentleman who

offered it, and to decide honestly whether the probabilities, on

Sir Percival's own showing, were plainly with him, or plainly

against him. My own conviction was that they were plainly with

him, and I accordingly declared that his explanation was, to my

mind, unquestionably a satisfactory one.

Miss Halcombe, after looking at me very earnestly, said a few

words, on her side, to the same effect--with a certain hesitation

of manner, however, which the circumstances did not seem to me to

warrant. I am unable to say, positively, whether Sir Percival

noticed this or not. My opinion is that he did, seeing that he

pointedly resumed the subject, although he might now, with all

propriety, have allowed it to drop.

"If my plain statement of facts had only been addressed to Mr.

Gilmore," he said, "I should consider any further reference to

this unhappy matter as unnecessary. I may fairly expect Mr.

Gilmore, as a gentleman, to believe me on my word, and when he has

done me that justice, all discussion of the subject between us has

come to an end. But my position with a lady is not the same. I

owe to her--what I would concede to no man alive--a PROOF of the

truth of my assertion. You cannot ask for that proof, Miss

Halcombe, and it is therefore my duty to you, and still more to

Miss Fairlie, to offer it. May I beg that you will write at once

to the mother of this unfortunate woman--to Mrs. Catherick--to ask

for her testimony in support of the explanation which I have just

offered to you."

I saw Miss Halcombe change colour, and look a little uneasy. Sir

Percival's suggestion, politely as it was expressed, appeared to

her, as it appeared to me, to point very delicately at the

hesitation which her manner had betrayed a moment or two since.

"Certainly not, Miss Halcombe. I make my proposal purely as an

act of attention to YOU. Will you excuse my obstinacy if I still

venture to press it?"

"Let me beg you to write the note," he said, "as a favour to ME.

It need not occupy you more than a few minutes. You have only to

ask Mrs. Catherick two questions. First, if her daughter was

placed in the Asylum with her knowledge and approval. Secondly,

if the share I took in the matter was such as to merit the

expression of her gratitude towards myself? Mr. Gilmore's mind is

at ease on this unpleasant subject, and your mind is at ease--pray

set my mind at ease also by writing the note."

With those words Miss Halcombe rose from her place and went to the

writing-table. Sir Percival thanked her, handed her a pen, and

then walked away towards the fireplace. Miss Fairlie's little

Italian greyhound was lying on the rug. He held out his hand, and

called to the dog good-humouredly.

The little beast, cowardly and cross-grained, as pet-dogs usually

are, looked up at him sharply, shrank away from his outstretched

hand, whined, shivered, and hid itself under a sofa. It was

scarcely possible that he could have been put out by such a trifle

as a dog's reception of him, but I observed, nevertheless, that he

walked away towards the window very suddenly. Perhaps his temper

is irritable at times. If so, I can sympathise with him. My

temper is irritable at times too.

Miss Halcombe was not long in writing the note. When it was done

she rose from the writing-table, and handed the open sheet of

paper to Sir Percival. He bowed, took it from her, folded it up

immediately without looking at the contents, sealed it, wrote the

address, and handed it back to her in silence. I never saw

anything more gracefully and more becomingly done in my life.

"I beg you will post it," he answered. "And now that it is

written and sealed up, allow me to ask one or two last questions

about the unhappy woman to whom it refers. I have read the

communication which Mr. Gilmore kindly addressed to my solicitor,

describing the circumstances under which the writer of the

anonymous letter was identified. But there are certain points to

which that statement does not refer. Did Anne Catherick see Miss

Fairlie?"

"She saw nobody from the house then, except a certain Mr.

Hartright, who accidentally met with her in the churchyard here?"

"Mr. Hartright was employed at Limmeridge as a drawing-master, I

believe? Is he a member of one of the Water-Colour Societies?"

"It is a duty we all owe to the poor creature herself to trace

her," continued Sir Percival. "She may have said something at

Todd's Corner which may help us to find her. I will go there and

make inquiries on the chance. In the meantime, as I cannot

prevail on myself to discuss this painful subject with Miss

Fairlie, may I beg, Miss Halcombe, that you will kindly undertake

to give her the necessary explanation, deferring it of course

until you have received the reply to that note."

Miss Halcombe promised to comply with his request. He thanked

her, nodded pleasantly, and left us, to go and establish himself

in his own room. As he opened the door the cross-grained

greyhound poked out her sharp muzzle from under the sofa, and

barked and snapped at him.

"Oh yes--how can it be otherwise? I know the thing could not be,"

she went on, speaking more to herself than to me; "but I almost

wish Walter Hartright had stayed here long enough to be present at

the explanation, and to hear the proposal to me to write this

note."

"Events, it is true, connected Mr. Hartright very remarkably with

the affair of the letter," I said; "and I readily admit that he

conducted himself, all things considered, with great delicacy and

discretion. But I am quite at a loss to understand what useful

influence his presence could have exercised in relation to the

effect of Sir Percival's statement on your mind or mine."

"It was only a fancy," she said absently. "There is no need to

discuss it, Mr. Gilmore. Your experience ought to be, and is, the

best guide I can desire."

I did not altogether like her thrusting the whole responsibility,

in this marked manner, on my shoulders. If Mr. Fairlie had done

it, I should not have been surprised. But resolute, clear-minded

Miss Halcombe was the very last person in the world whom I should

have expected to find shrinking from the expression of an opinion

of her own.

"If any doubts still trouble you," I said, "why not mention them

to me at once? Tell me plainly, have you any reason to distrust

Sir Percival Glyde?"

"How can I say I do, after the proof he has offered me of the

truth of it? Can there be better testimony in his favour, Mr.

Gilmore, than the testimony of the woman's mother?"

"None better. If the answer to your note of inquiry proves to be

satisfactory, I for one cannot see what more any friend of Sir

Percival's can possibly expect from him."

"Then we will post the note," she said, rising to leave the room,

"and dismiss all further reference to the subject until the answer

arrives. Don't attach any weight to my hesitation. I can give no

better reason for it than that I have been over-anxious about

Laura lately--and anxiety, Mr. Gilmore, unsettles the strongest of

us."

She left me abruptly, her naturally firm voice faltering as she

spoke those last words. A sensitive, vehement, passionate nature--

a woman of ten thousand in these trivial, superficial times. I

had known her from her earliest years--I had seen her tested, as

she grew up, in more than one trying family crisis, and my long

experience made me attach an importance to her hesitation under

the circumstances here detailed, which I should certainly not have

felt in the case of another woman. I could see no cause for any

uneasiness or any doubt, but she had made me a little uneasy, and

a little doubtful, nevertheless. In my youth, I should have

chafed and fretted under the irritation of my own unreasonable

state of mind. In my age, I knew better, and went out

philosophically to walk it off.

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.