The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe (in Extracts from her Diary)

LIMMERIDGE HOUSE, Nov. 8.

This morning Mr. Gilmore left us. When Mr Gilmore had returned to London after his meeting with Sir Percival Glyde at Limmeridge House, I became more and more anxious about Laura. His interview with Laura had evidently grieved and surprised him more than he liked to confess. I hesitate about Sir Percival, in the face of the plainest proofs. I hesitate even in speaking to Laura. On this very morning I doubted, with my hand on the door, whether I should ask her the questions I had come to put, or not.

When I went into her room I found her walking up and down in great impatience. She looked flushed and excited, and she came forward at once, and spoke to me before I could open my lips.

“I wanted you,” she said. “Come and sit down on the sofa with me. Marian! I can bear this no longer – I must and will end it.”

There was too much colour in her cheeks, too much energy in her manner. The little book of Hartright’s drawings was in one of her hands.

“Tell me quietly, my darling, what you wish to do,” I said.

“Mr. Gilmore was very kind and good to me, Marian, and I am ashamed to say I can’t control myself. I must have courage enough to end it. Courage, dear, to tell the truth.”

She put her arms round my neck, and rested her head quietly on my bosom. I couldn’t bear to see how sad she had become.

“To tell Sir Percival Glyde the truth with my own lips,” she answered, “and to let him release me, if he will, not because I ask him, but because he knows all.”

“What do you mean, Laura, by ‘all’?”

“Can I tell him that, when the engagement was made for me by my father, with my own consent? I should have kept my promise.”

My poor Laura was in love with Walter Hartright, I knew that. She didn’t want to marry Sir Percival but I also knew very well that she wouldn’t break her promise to her dead father. That was why she was insisting on going ahead with the wedding, even if it made her unhappy.

“Don’t be angry with me, Marian,” she said.

I was afraid of crying if I spoke.

“I have thought of this, love, for many days,” she went on, twining and twisting my hair, “I have thought of it very seriously. Let me speak to him tomorrow – in your presence, Marian. I will say nothing that is wrong, nothing that you or I need be ashamed of! Let him act towards me as he will.”

She sighed, and put her head back in its old position on my bosom. I told her that I would do as she wished.

At dinner she joined us again. In the evening she went to the piano, choosing new music of the dexterous, florid kind. The lovely old melodies of Mozart, which poor Hartright was so fond of, she has never played since he left.

I went in, as usual, through the door between our two bedrooms, to bid Laura good-night before she went to sleep. I saw the little book of Hartright’s drawings half hidden under her pillow, just in the place where she used to hide her favourite toys when she was a child. I could not find it in my heart to say anything, but I pointed to the book and shook my head.

“Laura,” I said with great sorrow in my heart. “You must forget Walter Hartright now. You’re going to marry Sir Percival. You must try and think of your new life with him.”

“You’re right, dear Marian,” she replied. “I must say goodbye to this little book for ever.”

She then cut off a piece of her lovely golden hair, placed it in the book and gave it to me.

“If Walter ever asks you about me, tell him I’m well and never say I’m unhappy. If I die, promise you’ll give him this little book with my hair in it. And say, Marian – oh, say for me what I can never say for myself – that I loved him.”

She threw her arms round my neck and began to cry.

* * *

9th.

The next day a letter arrived for me from Walter, begging me lo help him. He said he wanted to find some work far away from England which would take him to new scenes and new people, so that he could try and forget the past and Laura.

He has neither seen nor heard anything of Anne Catherick. But he has been perpetually watched and followed by strange men ever since he returned to London. This has frightened me, because it looks as if his one fixed idea about Laura was becoming too much for his mind. I will write immediately to some of my mother’s old friends in London, they held high positions in society and would be able to find Walter some work.

As the clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven Sir Percival knocked at the door and came in. There was suppressed anxiety and agitation in every line of his face. He sat down opposite to us at the table, and Laura remained by me. I looked attentively at them both, and he was the palest of the two.

He said a few words. There was just one moment of dead silence before Laura addressed him.

“I wish to speak to you, Sir Percival,” she said, “My sister is here, because her presence helps me and gives me confidence. I am sure you will be kind enough to understand me.”

Sir Percival bowed. She looked at him, and he looked at her.

“I have not forgotten,” she said, “that you asked my father’s permission before you honoured me with a proposal of marriage. I was guided by my father, because I had always found him the truest of all advisers, the best and fondest of all protectors and friends. I have lost him now – I have only his memory to love, but my faith in that dear dead friend has never been shaken. Sir Percival, you have always treated me with the same delicacy and the same forbearance. You have deserved my trust, and, what is of far more importance in my estimation, you have deserved my father’s trust. You have given me no excuse, even if I had wanted to find one, for asking to be released from my pledge. The breaking of our engagement must be entirely your wish and your act, Sir Percival – not mine.”

“My act?” he said. “What reason can there be on my side for withdrawing?”

“A reason that it is very hard to tell you,” she answered. “There is a change in me, Sir Percival – a change which is serious enough.”

His face turned so pale again that even his lips lost their colour. He raised the arm which lay on the table, turned a little away in his chair, and supported his head on his hand.

“What change?” he asked.

She sighed heavily.

“I have heard,” she said, “and I believe it, that the fondest and truest of all affections is the affection which a woman ought to bear to her husband. Will you pardon me, Sir Percival, if I say that I don’t bear it?”

A few tears gathered in her eyes, and dropped over her cheeks slowly as she paused and waited for his answer. He did not utter a word.

“Your trust is sacred to me,” he said, “and you must keep your promise.”

With those words he rose from his chair, and advanced a few steps towards the place where she was sitting.

“I must submit, Marian, as well as I can,” she said. “My new life has its hard duties, and one of them begins today.”

As she spoke she went to a side-table near the window, on which her sketching materials were placed, gathered them together carefully, and put them in a drawer of her cabinet. She locked the drawer and brought the key to me.

“Oh, Laura! Laura!” I said, not angrily, – with nothing but sorrow in my voice, and nothing but sorrow in my heart.

* * *

10th.

Sir Percival had left us to return to his own house. I wrote a short letter to Mr. Gilmore in London, informing him that the marriage was definitely going ahead.

“I have decided,” said Laura; “And it is too late to go back.”

I found Mr. Fairlie greatly relieved. Mr. Fairlie stretched out his lazy legs, and said, “Dear Marian! How I envy you and your nervous system! You and Laura have been troubling me greatly. Don’t bang the door!”

“My uncle is right,” said Laura. “I have caused trouble and anxiety enough to you, and to all about me. Let me cause no more, Marian – let Sir Percival decide. I have broken with my old life. The evil day will not come. No, Marian! Once again my uncle is right. I have caused trouble enough and anxiety enough, and I will cause no more.”

* * *

12th.

Sir Percival put some questions to me at breakfast about Laura. While we were talking she herself came down and joined us. When breakfast was over he had an opportunity of saying a few words to her privately. They were not more than two or three minutes together, and on their separating she left the room, while Sir Percival came to me. He said he wanted to fix the time for the marriage at Laura’s own will and pleasure. But he wishes to be married before the end of the year. My very fingers burn as I write it!

* * *

15th.

Except Laura, I never was more anxious about any one than I am now about Walter. I received a letter from him, thanking me. That poor fellow, in the warmest terms, thanked me for helping him, and said that one of my mother’s friends had offered him a place on a private expedition. The expedition was going to make excavations among the ruined cities of Central America. His ship was due to sail on 21 December and he expected to be away from England for about eighteen months. I decided not to say anything to Laura about this. From what Walter said in his letter, the expedition was going to be dangerous. If I told her, it would only upset her more. So Water Hartright has left England.

* * *

16th.

I suggested to Laura that we visit some old friends in Yorkshire as I thought the change of air would do her good. She agreed and we spent a happy week there. It was useless to go back to Limmeridge till there was an absolute necessity for our return.

* * *

25th

Sad news yesterday – ominous news to-day. Sir Percival Glyde has written to Mr. Fairlie, and Mr. Fairlie has written to Laura and me, to recall us to Limmeridge immediately.

What can this mean? Has the day for the marriage been fixed in our absence?

November 27th.

As soon as I got back to Limmeridge, I went to Mr. Fairlie’s room. He informed me that he had had a letter from Sir Percival Glyde. The marriage is fixed for the twenty-second of December.

“Please, dear Marian, tell Laura to get ready for the wedding,” said Mr Fairlie. “I’m afraid I can’t because, as you know, my nerves are very delicate. You’re very lucky that your nerves are so strong. Thank you so much, Marian, and please don’t bang the door on your way out!”

I went immediately to find Laura. When I told her the news, her face turned very pale and she began to tremble. She cried out,

“Not so soon, Marian, oh, not so soon!”

“Very well,” I said. “I’m going to tell your uncle and Sir Percival that they can’t have everything their own way.”

I was just going out of the door when Laura stopped me.

“No, Marian, too late,” she said faintly, “Too late! What’s the use? I’ve caused enough trouble and anxiety to everyone. I don’t want to cause any more. Tell my uncle I agree to the date. It makes no difference to me.”

Laura sighed bitterly.

“Are you going to my uncle’s room?” she asked. “Will you say that I consent to whatever arrangement he may think best?”

I went out. My heart felt as if it would break when I heard her words. I went back to Mr Fairlie, feeling angry and upset. I dashed into Mr. Fairlie’s room – called to him as harshly as possible, “Laura consents to the twenty-second” – and dashed out again without waiting for a word of answer. After that I banged the door as loudly as possible and went downstairs, feeling a little better. I hope Mr. Fairlie’s nervous system would be damaged for the rest of the day.

* * *

29th.

The preparations for the marriage have begun. The dressmaker has come to receive her orders. Although Laura tried hard to be interested in her wedding dress, I could see that she wasn’t. How excited she would be, I thought sadly, if she was going to marry poor Hartright, how differently she would have behaved!

* * *

30th.

We hear every day from Sir Percival. A separation between Laura and me is inevitable. It will be a longer separation, in the event of their going abroad, than it would be in the event of their remaining in London. In a month she will be his Laura instead of mine! His Laura!

* * *

December 1st.

A sad, sad day – a day that I don’t want to describe. Sir Percival proposed the wedding tour. He plans to take Laura to Italy for six months. In June they were all going to come back in Sir Percival’s home, Blackwater House. They will go to Italy, and I, with Sir Percival’s permission, will meet them and stay with them when they return to England. I was certainly very grateful that I could still be close to Laura.

* * *

18th.

Feeling weary and depressed this morning, I left Laura, and went out alone. I was excessively surprised to see Sir Percival approaching me from the direction of the farm. He was walking rapidly, swinging his stick, his head erect as usual, and his shooting jacket flying open in the wind. When we met he did not wait for me to ask any questions – he told me at once that he had been to the farm to inquire if Mr. or Mrs. Todd had received any news of Anne Catherick.

“You found, of course, that they had heard nothing?” I said.

“Nothing whatever,” he replied. “I begin to be seriously afraid that we have lost her. Do you happen to know,” he continued, looking me in the face very attentively “if the artist – Mr. Hartright – can give me any further information?”

“He has neither heard of her, nor seen her, since he left Cumberland,” I answered.

“Very sad,” said Sir Percival, speaking like a man who was disappointed. But, at the same time, he looked relieved. Why was Sir Percival so keen to find Anne Catherick on the day before his wedding, I wondered? It must be because he was really worried about her safety and wanted to help her.

* * *

19th.

Sir Percival began to talk of the English society in Rome to which Laura was to be introduced. He ran over the names of several friends whom he expected to meet abroad this winter. They were all English, as well as I can remember, with one exception. The one exception was Count Fosco.

I am becoming anxious to know the Count. He is the most intimate friend of Laura’s husband, and he excites my strongest interest. Neither Laura nor I have ever seen him. I wonder if he will ever come to England? I wonder if I shall like him?

* * *

20th.

I hate Sir Percival! I consider him to be ill-tempered and disagreeable. Last night the cards for the married couple were sent home. Laura opened the packet and saw her future name in print for the first time. Sir Percival looked over her shoulder at the new card which had already transformed Miss Fairlie into Lady Glyde – smiled, and whispered something in her ear. I don’t know what it was – Laura has refused to tell me – but I saw her face turn to a deadly whiteness. In three words, I hate him.

* * *

THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER.

Seven o’clock. A wild morning. She has just risen – better and calmer, now that the time has come, than she was yesterday.

Ten o’clock. She is dressed. We have kissed each other – we have promised each other not to lose courage. How can I write such folly! The marriage is a certainty. In less than half an hour we start for the church. The weather is terrible – wild and stormy.

Eleven o’clock. Up to the last moment, I had been hoping against hope that something would happen to stop the wedding. But nothing did. It is all over. They are married.

Three o’clock. They are gone! I am blind with crying – I can write no more —

[The First Epoch of the Story closes here.]