Wilkie Collins' greatest success was achieved on the
appearance of "The Woman in White" in 1860, a story described
by Thackeray as "thrilling." The book attracted immediate
attention, Collins' method of unravelling an intricate plot by
a succession of narratives being distinctly novel, and
appealing immensely to the reading public.
_I.--The Woman Appears_
_The story here presented will be told by several pens. Let Walter
Hartright, teacher of drawing, aged twenty-eight, be heard first_.
I had once saved Professor Pesca from drowning, and in his desire to do
"a good something for Walter," the warm-hearted little Italian secured
me the position of art-master at Limmeridge House, Cumberland.
It was the night before my departure to take up my duties as teacher to
Miss Laura Fairlie and her half-sister, Miss Marian Halcombe, and
general assistant to Frederick Fairlie, uncle and guardian to Miss
Fairlie. Having bidden good-bye to my mother and sister at their cottage
in Hampstead, I decided to walk home to my chambers the longest possible
way round. In the after-warmth of the hot July day I made my way across
the darkened Heath. Suddenly I was startled by a hand laid lightly on my
shoulder. I turned to see the figure of a solitary woman, with a
colourless youthful face, dressed from head to foot in white garments.
"Is that the road to London?" she said.
Her sudden appearance, her extraordinary dress, and the strained tones
of her voice so surprised me that I hesitated some moments before
replying. Her agitation at my silence was distressing, and calming her
as well as I could, and promising to help her to get a cab, I asked her
a few questions. Her answers showed that she was suffering from some
terrible nervous excitement. She asked me if I knew any baronet--any
from Hampshire--and seemed almost absurdly relieved when I assured her I
did not. In the course of our conversation, as we walked towards St.
John's Wood, I discovered a curious circumstance. She knew Limmeridge
House and the Fairlies!
Having found her a cab, I bade her good-bye. As we parted she suddenly
seized my hand and kissed it with overwhelming gratitude. Her conveyance
was hardly out of sight when two men drove past in an open chaise, and
drawing up in front of a policeman, asked him if he had seen a woman in
white, promising a reward if he caught her.
"What has she done?" queried the policeman.
"Done!" exclaimed one of the men. "She has escaped from our asylum."
The day following this strange adventure I arrived at Limmeridge House,
and the next morning made the acquaintance of the household. Marian
Halcombe and Laura Fairlie, her half-sister, were, in point of
appearance, the exact reverse of each other. The former was a tall,
masculine-looking woman, with a masculine capacity for deep friendship.
The latter was made in a slighter mould, with charming, delicate
features, set off by a mass of pale-brown hair. Mr. Frederick Fairlie I
found to be a neurotic, utterly selfish gentleman, who passed his life
in his own apartments, amusing himself with bullying his valet,
examining his works of art, and talking of his nerves.
With the other members of the household I soon became on a friendly
footing. Miss Halcombe, when I told her of my strange adventure on
Hampstead Heath, turned up her mother's correspondence with her second
husband, and discovered there a reference to the woman in white, who
bore a striking resemblance to Miss Fairlie. Her name was Anne
Catherick. She had stayed for a short time in the neighbourhood with her
mother, and had been befriended by Mrs. Fairlie.
As the months went by I fell passionately and hopelessly in love with
Laura Fairlie. No word of love, however, passed between us, but Miss
Halcombe, realising the situation, broke to me gently the fact that my
love was hopeless. Almost from childhood Laura had been engaged to Sir
Percival Clyde, a Hampshire baronet, and her marriage was due to take
place shortly. I accepted the inevitable and decided to resign my
position. But before I set out from Limmeridge House, many strange
things happened.
Shortly before the arrival of Sir Percival Clyde to settle the details
of his marriage, Laura had an anonymous letter, warning her against the
union, and concluding with the words, "your mother's daughter has a
tender place in my heart, for your mother was my first, my best, my only
friend." Two days after the receipt of this letter I came upon Anne
Catherick, busily tending the grave of Mrs. Fairlie. With difficulty I
persuaded her to tell me something of her story. That she had been
locked up in an asylum--unjustly, it was clear--I already knew. She
confessed to having written the letter to Laura, but when I mentioned
the name of Sir Percival Glyde, she shrieked aloud with terror. It was
obvious that it was the baronet who had placed her under restraint.
The Fairlies' family solicitor, Mr. Gilmore, arriving next day, the
whole matter was placed before him. He decided to send the anonymous
letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors and to ask for an explanation.
Before any reply was received, I had left Limmeridge House, bidding
farewell to the place where I had spent so many happy hours, and to the
girl I loved.
_II.--The Story Continued by Vincent Gilmore, of Chancery Lane,
Solicitor to the Fairlies_
I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright,
to describe the events which took place after his departure from
Limmeridge House.
My letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors regarding Anne Catherick's
anonymous communication was answered by the baronet in person on his
arrival at Limmeridge House. He was the first to offer an explanation.
Anne Catherick was the daughter of one of his old family servants, and
in consideration of her mother's past services he had sent her to a
private asylum instead of allowing her to go to one of the public
establishments where her mental condition would otherwise have compelled
her to remain. Her animus against Sir Percival was due to the fact that
she had discovered that he was the cause of her incarceration. The
anonymous letter was evidence of this insane antipathy.
My next concern with this history deals with the drawing up of Miss
Fairlie's marriage settlement. Besides being heiress to the Limmeridge
property, Miss Fairlie had personal estate to the value of £20,000,
derived under the will of her father, Philip Fairlie. To this she became
entitled on completing her twenty-first year. She had a life interest,
moreover, in £10,000, which on her death passed to her father's sister
Eleanor, the wife of Count Fosco, an Italian nobleman. In all human
probability the Countess Fosco would never enjoy this money, for she was
well advanced in age, while Laura was not yet twenty-one.
Regarding the £20,000, the proper and fair course was that the whole
amount should be settled so as to give the income to the lady for her
life, afterwards to Sir Percival for his life, and the principal to the
children of the marriage. In default of issue, the principal was to be
disposed of as the lady might by her will direct, thus enabling her to
make provision for her half-sister, Marian Halcombe. This was the fair
and proper settlement, but Sir Percival's solicitors insisted that the
principal should go to Sir Percival Glyde in the event of his surviving
Lady Glyde and there being no issue. I protested in vain, and this
iniquitous settlement, which placed every farthing of the £20,000 in Sir
Percival's pocket, and prevented Miss Fairlie providing for Miss
Halcombe, was duly signed.
_III.--The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe in a Series of Extracts
from Her Diary_
_Limmeridge House, November 9_. I have secured for poor Walter Hartright
a position as draughtsman on an expedition which is to start immediately
for central South America. Change of scene may really be the salvation
of him at this crisis in his life. To-day poor Laura asked Sir Percival
to release her from the engagement.
"If you still persist in maintaining our engagement," she said, looking
irresistibly beautiful, "I may be your true and faithful wife, Sir
Percival--your loving wife, if I know my own heart, never!"
"I gratefully accept your grace and truth," he said. "The least that
_you_ can offer is more to me than the utmost that I can hope for from
any other woman in the world."
_December_ 19. I received Sir Percival's consent to live with him as
companion to his wife in their new home in Hampshire. I was interested
to discover that Count Fosco, the husband of Laura's Aunt Eleanor, is a
great friend of Sir Percival's.
_December 22_, 11 _o'clock._ It is all over. They are married.
_Black-water Park, Hampshire, June_ 11. Six long months have elapsed
since Laura and I last saw each other. I have just arrived at her new
home. My latest news of Walter Hartright is derived from an American
paper. It describes how the expedition was last seen entering a wild
primeval forest.
_June_ 15. Laura has returned, and I have found her changed. The
old-time freshness and softness have gone. She is, if anything, more
beautiful. She refused to go into details on the subject of her married
life, and the fact that we have this forbidden topic seems to make a
difference to our old relations. Sir Percival made no pretence to be
glad to see me. They brought two guests with them, Count Fosco and his
wife, Laura's aunt. He is immensely fat, with a face like that of the
great Napoleon, and eyes which have an extraordinary power. In spite of
his size, he treads as softly as a cat. His manners are perfect. He
never says a hard word to his wife; but, none the less, he rules her
with a rod of iron. She is absolutely his slave, obedient to the
slightest expression of his eyes. He manages Sir Percival as he manages
his wife; and, indeed, all of us. He inquired to-day whether there were
any Italian gentlemen in the neighbourhood.
_June 16_. Merriman, Sir Percival's solicitor, came down to-day, and I
accidentally overheard a conversation which seems to indicate a
determination on Sir Percival's part to raise money on Laura's security,
to pay off some of his heavy debts.
_June 17_. Sir Percival tried to make Laura sign the document which had
been brought down by Merriman. On my advice, she refused to do so
without reading it. A terrible scene resulted, which was only stopped by
the intervention of Count Fosco. Sir Percival swore that Laura shall
sign it to-morrow. To-night, Laura and I fancied we saw a white figure
in the wood.
_June 18_. Laura has met Anne Catherick. It was she we saw in the wood
last night. She came upon Laura in the boat-house, and declared she had
something to tell her. "What is it you have to tell me?" asked Laura.
"The secret that your cruel husband is afraid of," she answered. "I once
threatened him with the secret and frightened him. You shall threaten
him with the secret and frighten him, too." When Laura pressed her, she
declared somebody was watching them and, pushing Laura back into the
boat-house, disappeared.
_June 19_. The worst has come. Sir Percival has discovered a message
from Anne Catherick to Laura, promising to reveal the secret, and
stating that yesterday she was followed by a "tall, fat man," clearly
the count. Sir Percival was furious, and locked Laura up in her bedroom.
Again the count has had to intervene on her behalf.
_Later_.--By climbing out on the roof of the verandah, I have overheard
a conversation between the count and Sir Percival. They spoke with
complete frankness--with fiendish frankness--to one another. Fosco
pointed out that his friend was desperately in need of money, and that,
as Laura had refused to sign the document, he could not secure it by
ordinary means. If Laura died, Sir Percival would inherit £20,000, and
Fosco himself obtain through his wife £10,000. Sir Percival confessed
that Anne Catherick had a secret which endangered his position. This
secret, he surmised, she had told to Laura; and Laura, being in love
with Walter Hartright--he had discovered this--would use it. The count
inquired what Anne Catherick was like.
"Fancy my wife after a bad illness with a touch of something wrong in
her head, and there is Anne Catherick for you," answered Sir Percival.
"What are you laughing about?"
"Make your mind easy, Percival," he said. "I have my projects here in my
big head. Sleep, my son, the sleep of the just."
I crept back to my room soaked through with the rain. Oh, my God, am I
going to be ill? I have heard the clock strike every hour. It is so
cold, so cold; and the strokes of the clock--the strokes I can't
count--keep striking in my head....
[At this point the diary ceases to be legible.]
_IV.--The Story Completed by Walter Hartright on His Return, from
Several Manuscripts_
The events that happened after Marian Halcombe fell ill while I was
still absent in South America I will relate briefly.
Count Fosco discovered Anne Catherick, and immediately took steps to put
into execution the plot he had hinted at. Wearing the clothes of Lady
Glyde, the unfortunate girl was taken to a house in St. John's Wood
where the real Lady Glyde was expected to stay when passing through town
on her way to Cumberland. Lady Glyde, on pretence that her half-sister
had been removed to town, was induced to visit London, where she was met
by Count Fosco, and at once placed in a private asylum in the name of
Anne Catherick. Her statement that she was Lady Glyde was held to be
proof of the unsoundness of her mind. Unfortunately for the count's
plans, the real Anne Catherick died the day before the incarceration of
Lady Glyde, but, as there was no one to prove the dates of these events,
both Fosco and Sir Percival regarded themselves as secure. With great
pomp the body of Anne Catherick was taken to Limmeridge and buried in
the name of Lady Glyde.
As soon as Marian Halcombe recovered, the supposed death of her
half-sister was broken to her. Recollecting the conversation she had
overheard just before she was taken ill, she had grave suspicions as to
the cause of Laura's death, and immediately instituted inquiries. In the
pursuit of these inquiries she visited Anne Catherick in the asylum, and
her joy in discovering Laura there instead of the supposed Anne
Catherick was almost overwhelming. By bribing one of the nurses, she
secured Laura's freedom, and travelled with her to Limmeridge to
establish her identity. To her disgust and amazement Frederick Fairlie
refused to accept her statement, or to believe that Laura was other than
Anne Catherick. Count Fosco had visited and prepared him.
At this juncture I returned from South America, and, hearing of the
death of the girl I loved, at once set off to Limmeridge on a sad
pilgrimage to her grave. While I was reading the tragic narrative on the
tombstone, two women approached. Even as the words, "Sacred to the
memory of Laura, Lady Glyde," swam before my eyes, one of them lifted
her veil. It was Laura.
In a poor quarter of London I took up my abode with Laura and Miss
Halcombe, and while my poor Laura slowly recovered her health and
spirits I devoted myself to the support of the little household, and to
unravelling the mystery which surrounded the events I have here
recorded. From Mrs. Clements, who had befriended poor Anne Catherick, I
learnt that Mrs. Catherick had had secret meetings years before with Sir
Percival Glyde in the vestry of the church at Welmingham.
To establish the exact relations between Mrs. Catherick and Sir
Percival, I visited Welmingham, pursued by the baronet's agents. My
interview with Mrs. Catherick satisfied me that Sir Percival was not the
father of Anne, and that their secret meeting in the vestry had
reference to some object other than romance. The contemptuous way in
which Mrs. Catherick spoke of Sir Percival's mother set me thinking. I
visited the vestry where the meetings had taken place, and examining the
register, discovered at the bottom of one of the pages, compressed into
a very small space, the entry of Sir Felix Glyde's marriage with the
mother of Sir Percival. Hearing from the sexton that an old lawyer in
the neighbouring town had a copy of this register, I visited him, and
found that his copy did not contain the entry of this marriage.
Here was the secret at last! Sir Percival was the illegitimate son of
his father, and had forged this entry of his father's marriage in order
to secure the title and estates. Mrs. Catherick was the only person who
knew of the plot. In a fit of ill-temper she had told her daughter Anne
that she possessed a secret that could ruin the baronet. Anne herself
never knew the secret, but foolishly repeated her mother's words to Sir
Percival, and the price of her temerity was incarceration in a private
asylum.
I returned post-haste to Welmingham to secure a copy of the forged
entry. It was night. As I approached the church, a man stopped me,
mistaking me for Sir Percival Glyde. A light in the vestry showed to me
that Sir Percival had anticipated my discovery and had secretly visited
the church for the purpose of destroying the evidences of his crime. But
a terrible fate awaited him. Even as I approached the church, a huge
tongue of flame shot up into the night sky. As I rushed forward I could
hear the baronet vainly seeking to escape from the vestry. The lock was
hampered, and he could not get out. I tried to force an entry, but by
the time the flames were under control the end had come. We found the
charred remains of the man who had walked through life as Sir Percival
Clyde lying by the door.
The mystery was now unravelled, and I was free to marry my darling. The
only other point that seemed to need clearing up was the parentage of
the unfortunate Anne Catherick. That was elucidated by Mrs. Catherick
herself. The father of Anne was Philip Fairlie, the father of Laura--a
fact that accounted for the extraordinary likeness between the two
girls. But though our tribulations seemed to be at an end, we had yet to
establish the identity of Laura, and to deal with Count Fosco.
To Miss Halcombe the count had written a letter expressive of his
admiration, and begging her, for her own sake, to let matters be. I knew
the count was a dangerous enemy, who would not hesitate to employ murder
if necessary to gain his ends, but I was determined to re-establish the
identity of Laura. Miss Halcombe's journal afforded me a clue. I found
there a statement that on the occasion of his first visit to Black-water
Park the count had been very concerned to know whether there were any
Italians in the neighbourhood. Without hoping that anything would result
from the manoeuvre, I followed the count one night, in the company of my
friend, Professor Pesca, to the theatre. The professor did not recognise
Fosco, but when the count, staring round the theatre, focussed his
glasses on Pesca, I saw a look of unmistakable terror come over his
countenance. He at once rose from his seat and left the place. We
followed.
The professor was very grave, and it was quite a different man to the
light-hearted little Italian that I knew who related to me a strange
chapter in his life. As a young man, Pesca had belonged to, a secret
society for the removal of tyrants. He was still a member of the
society, and could be called upon to act at any time. The count had also
been a member of the society, and had betrayed its secret. Hence his
terror of seeing Pesca.
I immediately made use of the weapon that had been placed in my hand. I
went boldly to Fosco's house, and offered to effect his escape from
England in return for a full confession of his share in the abduction of
Lady Glyde. He threatened to kill me, but realising that I had him at my
mercy, consented to my terms.
This confession completely established the identity of Laura and she was
publicly acknowledged by Mr. Frederick Fairlie. Laura and I had been
married some time before and we were now able to set off on our
honeymoon. We visited Paris. While there, I chanced to be attracted by a
large crowd that surged round the doors of the Morgue. Forcing my way
through, I saw, lying within, the body of Count Fosco. There was a wound
exactly over his heart, and on his arm were two deep cuts in the shape
of the letter "T"--the symbol of his treason to the secret brotherhood.
When we returned to England, we lived comfortably on the income I was
able to earn by my profession. A son was born to us, and when Frederick
Fairlie died, it was Marion Halcombe, who had been the good angel of our
lives, who announced the important change that had taken place in our
prospects.
"Let me make two eminent personages known to one another," she
exclaimed, with all her easy gaiety of old times, holding out my son to
me: "Mr. Walter Hartright--the heir of Limmeridge House."
* * * * *