Lady Audley's Secret

Mary Elizabeth Maxwell, youngest daughter of Henry Braddon,

solicitor, and widow of John Maxwell, publisher, was born in

London in 1837. Early in life she had literary aspirations,

and, as a girl of twenty-three, wrote her first novel, "The

Trail of the Serpent," which first appeared in serial form.

"Lady Audley's Secret" was published in 1862, and Miss Braddon

immediately sprang into fame as an authoress, combining a

graphic style with keen analysis of character, and exceptional

ingenuity in the construction of a plot of tantalising

complexities and DRAMATIC _DÉNOUEMENT_. The book passed

through many editions, and there was an immediate demand for

other stories by the gifted authoress. That demand was met

with an industry and resource rarely equalled. Every year

since, Miss Braddon, who throughout retained her maiden as her

pen-name, furnished the reading public with one, and for a

long period two romances of absorbing interest.

_I.--The Second Lady Audley_

SIR MICHAEL AUDLEY was fifty-six years of age, and had married a second

wife nine months before. For seventeen years he had been a widower with

an only child--Alicia, now eighteen. Lady Audley had come into the

neighbourhood from London, in response to an advertisement in the

"Times," as a governess in the family of Mr. Dawson, the village

surgeon. Her accomplishments were brilliant and numerous. Everyone, high

and low, loved, admired, and praised her, and united in declaring that

Lucy Graham was the sweetest girl that ever lived. Sir Michael Audley

expressed a strong desire to be acquainted with her. A meeting was

arranged at the surgeon's house, and that day Sir Michael's fate was

sealed. One misty June evening Sir Michael, sitting opposite Lucy Graham

at the window of the surgeon's little drawing-room, spoke to her on the

subject nearest his heart.

"I scarcely think," he said, "there is a greater sin, Lucy, than that of

a woman who marries a man she does not love. You are so precious to me

that, deeply as my heart is set on this, and bitter as the mere thought

of disappointment is to me, I would not have you commit such a sin for

any happiness of mine. Nothing but misery can result from a marriage

dictated by any motive but truth and love."

Lucy for some moments was quite silent. Then, turning to him with a

sudden passion in her manner that lighted up her face with a new and

wonderful beauty, she fell on her knees at his feet. Clutching at a

black ribbon about her throat, she exclaimed:

"How good, how noble, how generous you are! But you ask too much of me.

Only remember what my life has been! From babyhood I have never seen

anything but poverty. My father was a gentleman, but poor; my mother--

but don't let me speak of her. You can never guess what is endured by

genteel paupers. I cannot be disinterested; I cannot be blind to the

advantages of such a marriage. I do not dislike you--no, no; and I do

not love anyone in the world," she added, with a laugh, when asked if

there was anyone else.

Sir Michael was silent for a few moments, and then, with a kind of

effort, said: "Well, Lucy, I will not ask too much of you; but I see no

reason why we should not make a very happy couple."

When Lucy went to her own room she sat down on the edge of the bed, and

murmured: "No more dependence, no more drudgery, no more humiliations!

Every trace of the old life melted away, every clue to identity buried

and forgotten except this"--and she drew from her bosom a black ribbon

and locket, and the object attached to it. It was a ring wrapped in an

oblong piece of crumpled paper, partly written and partly printed.

_II.--The Return of the Gold-Seeker_

A tall, powerfully-built young man of twenty-five, his face bronzed by

exposure, brown eyes, bushy black beard, moustache, and hair, was pacing

impatiently the deck of the Australian liner Argus, bound from Melbourne

to Liverpool. His name was George Talboys. He was joined in his

promenade by a shipboard-friend, who had been attracted by the feverish

ardour and freshness of the young man, and was made the confidant of his

story.

"Do you know, Miss Morley," he said, "that I left my little girl asleep,

with her baby in her arms, and with nothing but a few blotted lines to

tell her why her adoring husband had deserted her."

"Deserted her!" cried Miss Morley.

"Yes. I was a cornet in a cavalry regiment when I first met my darling.

We were quartered in a stupid seaport town, where my pet lived with her

shabby old father--a half-pay naval man. It was a case of love at first

sight on both sides, and my darling and I made a match of it. My father

is a rich man, but no sooner did he hear that I was married to a

penniless girl than he wrote a furious letter telling me that he would

never again hold any communication with me, and that my yearly allowance

was stopped.

"I sold out my commission, thinking that before the money I got for it

was exhausted I should be sure to drop into something. I took my darling

to Italy, lived in splendid style, and then, when there was nothing left

but a couple of hundred pounds, we came back to England and boarded with

my wretched father-in-law, who fleeced us finely. I went to London and

tried in vain to get employment; and on my return, my little girl burst

into a storm of lamentations, blaming me for the cruel wrong of marrying

her if I could give her nothing but poverty and misery. Her tears and

reproaches drove me almost mad. I ran out of the house, rushed down to

the pier, intending, after dark, to drop quietly into the water and end

all.

"While I sat smoking two men came along, and began to talk of the

Australian gold-diggings and the great fortunes that were to be made

there in a short time. I got into conversation with them, and learned

that a ship sailed from Liverpool for Melbourne in three days. The

thought flashed on me that that was better than the water. I returned

home, crept upstairs, and wrote a few hurried lines which told her that

I never loved her better than now when I seemed to desert her; that I

was going to try my fortune in a new world; that if I succeeded I should

come back to bring her plenty and happiness, but if I failed I should

never look upon her face again. I kissed her hand and the baby once, and

slipped out of the room. Three nights after I was out at sea, bound for

Melbourne, a steerage passenger with a digger's tools for my baggage,

and seven shillings in my pocket. After three and a half years of hard

and bitter struggles on the goldfields, at last I struck it rich,

realised twenty thousand pounds, and a fortnight later I took my passage

for England. All this time I had never communicated with my wife, but

the moment fortune came, I wrote, telling her I should be in England

almost as soon as my letter, and giving her an address at a coffee-house

in London."

That same evening Phoebe Marks, maid to Lady Audley, invited her cousin

and sweetheart, Luke Marks, a farm labourer with ambitions to own a

public-house, to survey the wonders of Audley Court, including my lady's

private apartments and her jewel-box. During the inspection, by

accident, a knob in the framework of the jewel-box was pushed, and a

secret drawer sprang out There were neither gold nor gems in it. Only a

baby's little worsted shoe, rolled in a piece of paper, and a tiny lock

of silky yellow hair, evidently taken from a baby's head. Phoebe's eyes

dilated as she examined the little packet.

"So this is what my lady hides in the secret drawer," she said, putting

the little packet in her pocket.

"Why, Phoebe, you're never going to be such a fool as to take that?"

cried Luke.

"I'd rather have this than the diamond bracelet you would have liked to

take," she said, her lips curving into a curious smile. "You shall have

the public-house, Luke."

_III.--Robert Audley Comes on the Scene_

Robert Audley was supposed to be a barrister, and had chambers in Fig

Tree Court, Temple. He was a handsome, lazy, care-for-nothing fellow of

seven-and-twenty, the only son of the younger brother of Sir Michael

Audley, who had left him a moderate competency.

One morning, Robert Audley strolled out of the Temple, Blackfriarswards.

At the corner of a court in St. Paul's Churchyard he was almost knocked

down by a man of his own age dashing headlong into the narrow opening.

Robert remonstrated; the stranger stopped suddenly, looked very hard at

the speaker, and cried, in a tone of intense astonishment:

"Bob! I only touched British ground after dark last night, and to think

I should meet you this morning!"

George Talboys, for the stranger was the late passenger on board the

Argus, had been from boyhood the inseparable chum of Robert Audley. The

tale of Talboys' marriage, his expedition to Australia, and his return

with a fortune, was briefly told. The pair took a hansom to the

Westminster coffee-house where Talboys had written to his wife to

forward letters. There was no letter, and the young man showed very

bitter disappointment. By and by George mechanically picked up a "Times"

newspaper of a day or two before, and stared vacantly at the first page.

He turned a sickly colour, and pointed to a line which ran: "On the 24th

inst., at Ventnor-Isle of Wight, Helen Talboys, aged 22." He knew no

more until he opened his eyes in a room in his friend's chambers in the

Temple.

Next day he and Robert Audley journeyed by express to Ventnor, learned

on inquiry at the principal hotel that a Captain Maldon, whose daughter

was lately dead, was staying at Lansdowne Cottage; and thither they

proceeded. The captain and his little grandson, Georgey, were out.

George Talboys and his friend visited the churchyard where his wife was

buried, commissioned a mason to erect a headstone on the grave, and then

went to the beach to seek Captain Maldon and the little boy.

The captain, when he saw his son-in-law, coloured violently with

something of a frightened look. He told Talboys that only a few months

after his departure he and Helen came to live at Southampton, where she

had obtained a few pupils for the piano; but her health failed, and she

fell into a decline, of which she died. Broken-hearted, Talboys started

for Liverpool to take ship for Australia, but failed to catch the

steamer; returned to London, and accompanied Robert Audley on a long

visit to Russia.

A year passed, and Robert proposed to take his friend to Audley Court,

but had a letter from his cousin Alicia, saying that her stepmother had

taken into her head that she was too ill to entertain, though in reality

there was nothing the matter with her.

"My lady's airs and graces shan't keep us out of Essex, for all that,"

said Robert Audley. "We will go to a comfortable old inn in the village

of Audley."

Thither they went; but Lady Audley, who had casually seen him, although

he was unaware of it, continued on one excuse or another to avoid

meeting George Talboys. The two young men strolled up to the Court in

the absence of Sir Michael and Lady Audley, where they met Alicia

Audley, who showed them the lime walk and the old well.

Robert was anxious to see the portrait of his new aunt; but Lady

Audley's picture was in her private apartments, the door of which was

locked. Alicia remembered there was, unknown to Lady Audley, access to

these by means of a secret passage. In a spirit of fun the young men

explored the passage and reached the portrait. George Talboys sat before

it without uttering a word, only staring blankly.

"We managed it capitally; but I don't like the portrait," said Robert,

when they had crept back. "There is something odd about it."

"There is," answered Alicia. "We never have seen my lady look as she

does in that picture; but I think she could look so."

Next day Talboys and Robert went fishing. George pretended to fish;

Robert slept on the river-bank. The servants were at dinner at the

Court; Alicia had gone riding. Lady Audley sauntered out, book in hand,

to the shady lime walk. George Talboys came up to the hall, rang the

bell, was told that her ladyship was walking in the lime avenue. He

looked disappointed at the intelligence, and walked away. A full hour

and a half later, Lady Audley returned to the house, not coming from the

lime avenue, but from the opposite direction. In her own room she

confronted her maid, Phoebe. The eyes of the two women met.

"Phoebe Marks," said my lady presently, "you are a good girl; and while

I live and am prosperous, you shall not want a firm friend and a

twenty-pound note."

_IV.--The Search and the Counter Check_

Robert Audley awoke from his nap to find George Talboys gone. He

searched in the grounds and in the inn for him in vain. At the

railway-station he heard that a man who, from the description given,

might be Talboys, had gone by the afternoon train to London. In the

evening he went up to the Court to dinner. Lady Audley was gay and

fascinating; but gave a little nervous shudder when Robert, feeling

uneasy about his friend, said so.

Again, when Lady Audley was at the piano he observed a bruise on her

arm. She said that it was caused by tying a piece of ribbon too tightly

round her arm two or three days before. But Robert saw that the bruise

was recent, and that it had been made by the four fingers, one of which

had a ring, of a powerful hand.

Suspicion began to be aroused in the mind of Robert Audley, first as to

the real identity of Lady Audley; and second, as to the fate of his

friend. He brought into play all the keenness of his intellect, and

abandoned his lazy habits. He went to Southampton, saw Captain Maldon,

who told him that George Talboys had arrived the morning before at one

o'clock to have a look at his boy before sailing for Australia. On

inquiry at Liverpool, this proved to be false.

He sought the assistance of George's father, Squire Talboys, at Grange

Heath, Dorsetshire, to discover the murderer; but the squire resolutely

refused to accept that his son was dead. He was only hiding, hoping for

forgiveness, which would never be given.

The beautiful sister of George Talboys followed Robert when he left the

mansion and besought him passionately to avenge her brother's murder, in

which she implicitly believed, and this he promised to do.

Then he learned that Phoebe, Lady Audley's maid, had married her cousin

Luke Marks, who, under veiled threats, had obtained one hundred pounds

from her ladyship to enable him to lease the Castle Inn. And having

visited the place, and held conversation with the half-drunken landlord,

he felt assured that Luke Marks and his wife had by some means obtained

a sinister power over Lady Audley.

Robert thereafter traced the life history of Helen Maldon from her

marriage to George Talboys at Wildernsea, Yorkshire, her secret

departure from there after her husband's desertion, her appearance the

following day as a teacher in a girl's school at Brompton under the name

of Lucy Graham; her arrival as a governess in Essex, and finally her

marriage to Sir Michael Audley.

Once more he returned to the Court, where his uncle was lying ill,

attended by Lady Audley. He demanded a private audience of my lady, at

which he told her he had discovered the whole of the conspiracy

concocted by an artful woman who had speculated upon the chance of her

husband's death, and had secured a splendid position at the risk of

committing a crime.

"My friend, George Talboys," said Robert, "was last seen entering these

gardens, and was never seen to leave them. I will have such a search

made as shall level that house to the earth, and root up every tree

rather than I will fail in finding the grave of my murdered friend."

"You shall never live to do this," she said. "I will kill you first!"

That evening Lady Audley gave to her husband a gloss of what his nephew

had said, and boldly accused him of being mad. "You would," she said,

"never let anyone influence you against me, would you, darling?"

"No, my love; they had better not try it."

Lady Audley laughed aloud, with a gay, triumphant peal as she tripped

out of the room; but as she sat in her own chamber, brooding, she

muttered: "Dare I defy him? Will anything stop him but--death?"

Just then Phoebe Marks arrived to warn Lady Audley that Robert had

appeared at the Castle Inn. She also explained that a bailiff was in the

house, as the rent was due, and she wanted money to pay him out. Lady

Audley, insisted to Phoebe's astonishment, that she herself would bring

the money. She did so; and, unknown to Phoebe, cunningly set fire to the

inn, hoping that Robert Audley would meet his death. She and her maid

then left the inn to make the long tramp back to the Court. Half the

distance had been covered, when Phoebe looked back and saw a red glare

in the sky. She stopped, suddenly fell on her knees, and cried: "Oh, my

God! Say it's not true! It's too horrible!"

"What's too horrible?" said Lady Audley.

"The thought that is in my mind."

"I will tell you nothing except that you are a mad woman; and go home."

Lady Audley walked away in the darkness.

_V.--My Lady Tells the Truth_

Lady Audley next day was under the dominion of a terrible restlessness.

Towards the dinner hour she walked in the quadrangle. In the dusk she

lost all self-control when a figure approached. Her knees sank under her

and she dropped to the ground. It was Robert Audley who helped her to

rise and then led her into the library. In a pitiless voice he called

her the incendiary of the fire at the inn. Fortunately, he had changed

his room, and escaped being burnt to death, saving, at the same time,

Luke Marks. The day was now past, he insisted, for mercy, after last

night's deed of horror; and she should no longer pollute the Court with

her presence.

"Bring Sir Michael," she cried, "and I will confess everything!"

And so the confession was made. Briefly stated, it was that as a little

child, in a Hampshire coast village, when she asked where her mother

was, the answer always was that that was a secret. In a fit of passion

the foster-mother told her that her own mother was a madwoman in an

asylum many miles away. Afterwards, she learned that the madness was a

hereditary disease, and she was instructed to keep the secret because it

might affect her injuriously in after life. Then she detailed the story

of her life until her marriage with Sir Michael Audley, justifying that

on the ground that she had a right to believe her first husband was

dead. In the sunshine of love at Audley Court she felt, for the first

time in her life, the miseries of others, and took pleasure in acts of

kindness.

In an Essex paper she read of the return of her first husband to

England. Knowing his character, she thought that unless he could be

induced to believe she was dead, he would never abandon his search for

her. Again she became mad. In collusion with her father she induced a

Mrs. Plowson in Southampton, who had a daughter in the last stage of

consumption, to pass off that daughter as Mrs. George Talboys, and

removed her to Ventnor, Isle of Wight, with her own little boy schooled

to call her "mamma." There she died in a fortnight, was buried as Mrs.

George Talboys, and the advertisement of the death was inserted in the

"Times" two days before her husband's arrival in England.

Sir Michael could hear no more. He and his daughter Alicia departed that

evening for the Continent. Next day, Dr. Mosgrave, a mental specialist,

arrived from London. He was fully informed of the history of Lady

Audley, examined her, and finally reported to Robert: "The lady is not

mad, but she has a hereditary taint in her blood. She has the cunning of

madness, with the prudence of intelligence. She is dangerous." He gave

Robert a letter addressed to Monsieur Val, Villebrumeuse, Belgium, who,

he said, was the proprietor and medical superintendent of an excellent

_maison de santé_, and would, no doubt, willingly receive Lady Audley

into his establishment, and charge himself with the full responsibility

of her future life.

Robert escorted Lady Audley to Villebrumeuse, where she was presented to

Monsieur Val as Madame Taylor. When Monsieur Val retired from the

reception room, at my lady's request, she turned to Robert, and said:

"You have brought me to a living grave; you have used your power basely

and cruelly."

"I have done that which I thought was just to others, and merciful to

you," replied Robert. "Live here and repent."

"I cannot," cried my lady. "I would defy you and kill myself if I dared.

Do you know what I am thinking of? It is of the day upon which George

Talboys--disappeared! The body of George Talboys lies at the bottom of

the old well in the shrubbery beyond the lime walk. He came to me there,

goaded me beyond endurance, and I called him a madman and a liar. I was

going to leave him when he seized me by the wrist and sought to detain

me by force. You yourself saw the bruises. I became mad, and drew the

loose iron spindle from the shrunken wood of the windlass. My first

husband sank with one horrible cry into the black mouth of the well!"

_VI.--The Mystery Cleared Up_

On arrival in London, Robert Audley received a letter from Clara Talboys

saying that Luke Marks, the man whom he had saved in the fire at the

Castle Inn, was lying at his mother's cottage at Audley, and expressed a

very earnest wish to see him. Robert took train at once to Audley.

The dying man confessed that on the night of George Talboys's

disappearance, when going home to his mother's cottage, he heard groans

come from the laurel bushes in the shrubbery near the old well. On

search, he found Talboys covered with slime, and with a broken arm. He

carried the crippled man to his mother's cottage, washed, fed, and

nursed him.

Next day Talboys gave him a five-pound note to accompany him to the town

of Brentwood, where he called on a surgeon to have his broken arm set

and dressed. That done, Talboys wrote two notes in pencil with his left

hand, and gave them to Luke to deliver--one with a cross to be handed to

Lady Audley, and the other to the nephew of Sir Michael, and then took

train to London in a second-class carriage.

Phoebe, who had seen from her window Lady Audley pushing George Talboys

into the well, said that my lady was in their power, and that she would

do anything for them to keep her secret. So the letters were not

delivered.

He hid them away; not a creature had seen them. The old mother, who had

been present throughout the confession, took the papers from a drawer

and handed them to Robert Audley.

The note to Robert said that something had happened to the writer, he

could not tell what, which drove him from England, a broken-hearted man,

to seek some corner of the earth where he might live and die unknown and

forgotten. He left his son in his friend's hands, knowing that he could

leave him to no truer guardian. The second note was addressed "Helen,"

saying, "May God pity and forgive you for that which you have done

to-day, as truly as I do. Rest in peace. You shall never hear from me

again. I leave England, never to return.--G. T."

Luke Marks died that afternoon. Robert Audley wrote a long letter the

same evening, addressed to Madame Taylor, in which he told the story

related by Marks; and as soon as possible he went down to Dorsetshire to

inform George Talboys's father that his son was alive. He stayed five

weeks at Grange Heath, and the love which had come to him at first sight

of Clara Talboys rapidly ripened.

Consent to the marriage was given, with a blessing by the old

Roman-minded squire, and the pair agreed to go on their honeymoon trip

to Australia to look for the son and brother. Robert returned for the

last time to his bachelor chambers in the Temple. He was told that a

visitor was waiting for him. The visitor was George Talboys, and he

opened his arms to his lost friend with a cry of delight and surprise.

The tale was soon told. When George fell into the well he was stunned

and bruised, and his arm broken. After infinite pains and difficulties

he climbed to the top and hid in a clump of laurel bushes till the

arrival of Luke Marks. He had not been to Australia after all, but had

exchanged his berth on board the Victoria Regia for another in a ship

bound for New York. There he remained for a time till he yearned for the

strong clasp of the hand which guided him through the darkest passage of

his life.

Two years passed. In a fairy cottage on the banks of the Thames, between

Teddington Lock and Hampton Bridge, George Talboys lives with his sister

and brother-in-law, the latter having now obtained success at the Bar.

Georgey pays occasional visits from Eton to play with a pretty baby

cousin. It is a year since a black-edged letter came to Robert Audley,

announcing that Madame Taylor had died after a long illness, which

Monsieur Val described as _maladie de longueur_. Sir Michael Audley

lives in London with Alicia, who is very shortly to become the wife of

Sir Harry Towers, a sporting Herts baronet.

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