The Story Continued by Eliza Michelson (Housekeeper at Blackwater Park)

I am asked to write what I know of Miss Halcombe’s illness and of the circumstances under which Lady Glyde left Blackwater Park for London.

Miss Halcombe became ill so unexpectedly. She was walking about her room with a pen in her hand, quite light-headed, in a state of burning fever.

Lady Glyde was the first to come in from her own bedroom. She was so dreadfully alarmed and distressed that she was quite useless. The Count Fosco, and his lady were both very kind. The Countess assisted me to get Miss Halcombe to her bed. Sir Percival sent for the doctor.

Mr. Dawson arrived in less than an hour’s time. He was a respectable elderly man, well known all round the country.

Miss Halcombe passed a very bad night, the fever coming and going, and getting worse towards the morning instead of better. Sir Percival and the Count came in the morning to make their inquiries. Sir Percival appeared much confused. The Count said, “Let us keep the house quiet. Let us not smoke indoors, my friend, now Miss Halcombe is ill. Good-morning, Mrs. Michelson.” Sir Percival was not civil enough. Only the Count had the manners of a true nobleman.

There was no improvement in Miss Halcombe, and the second night was even worse than the first. Mr. Dawson, the doctor, was constant in his attendance. He told us he thought her case was very serious indeed. She lay sick in bed for many days, nursed only by her sister, Lady Glyde, and myself. We took it in turns to sit by her bedside from morning till night. But soon Lady Glyde became ill, too.

The night passed as usual without producing any change for the better in Miss Halcombe. The next day she seemed to improve a little. The day after that the Countess proceeded by the morning train to London.

Count Fosco had to go to London on business as well, and was away for a week. During his absence, Miss Halcombe’s condition didn’t improve. The poor lady did not know any one about her. She seemed to take her friends for enemies. When the Count approached her bedside, her eyes settled on his face with a dreadful stare of terror.

“It is typhus fever,” he said.

“It is not typhus fever,” Mr. Dawson remarked sharply. “I protest, sir. No one has a right to heal here but me.”

The Count interrupted him – not by words, but only by pointing to the bed.

“I entered this room, sir, in the sacred interests of humanity,” said the Count. “I warn you that the fever has turned to typhus, and that your treatment is responsible for this change. We are going to have a new doctor from London.”

Before Mr. Dawson could answer, the door was opened, and we saw a new doctor. He was a younger man than Mr. Dawson, very serious and very decided. Mr. Dawson asked him,

“What is your opinion of the fever?”

“Typhus,” replied the physician. “Typhus fever beyond all doubt.”

In some days the new physician positively assured us that Miss Halcombe was out of danger. “She wants no doctor now – all she requires is careful watching and nursing, and that I see she has.” Those were his own words.

One day I received a message from Sir Percival, saying that he wanted to see me at once in the library. Sir Percival and Count Fosco were sitting together. Sir Percival civilly asked me to take a seat, and then, to my great astonishment, addressed me in these terms —

“I want to speak to you, Mrs. Michelson, about a matter – which I decided about some time ago, and which I was going to mention before Miss Halcombe became ill. As soon as Lady Glyde and Miss Halcombe can travel they must both have change of air. My friends, Count Fosco and the Countess, will leave us before that time to live in the neighbourhood of London, and I have reasons for not opening the house to any more company. I don’t blame you, but my expenses here are a great deal too heavy. In short, I shall sell the horses, and get rid of all the servants at once.”

I listened to him with astonishment.

“Who is to do the cooking, Sir Percival, while you are still staying here?”

“Margaret Porcher can roast and boil – keep her. What do I want with a cook if I don’t mean to give any dinner-parties?”

“The servant you have mentioned is the most stupid servant in the house, Sir Percival.”

“Keep her, I tell you, and have a woman in from the village to do the cleaning and go away again. My weekly expenses must and shall be lowered immediately. Dismiss the whole lazy pack of indoor servants tomorrow, except Porcher. She is as strong as a horse – and we’ll make her work like a horse.”

“But, Sir Percival, I can’t dismiss the servants without giving them a month’s wages in advance.”

Sir Percival gave me a black look. I was afraid he was going to lose his temper.

“Very well, give them each a month’s wages and tell them to go. I will only be here myself for another few weeks.”

“Sir Percival, I have nothing more to say. Your directions shall be attended to.” Pronouncing those words, I bowed my head with the most distant respect, and went out of the room.

Of the whole domestic establishment there now remained only myself, Margaret Porcher, and the gardener. I wished the poor ladies both well again, and I wished myself away from Blackwater Park.

A few days later, when the servants had left, I was again sent for by Sir Percival. Again I found Count Fosco sitting with him.

This time Sir Percival had even more astonishing news for me. Sir Percival mentioned that both the ladies would probably pass the autumn (by invitation of Frederick Fairlie, Esquire) at Limmeridge House, Cumberland. But before they went there, it was his opinion, confirmed by Count Fosco (who here took up the conversation and continued it to the end), that they would benefit by a short residence first in Torquay, a small seaside town on the south-west coast of England. He told me he was thinking of sending Lady Glyde and Miss Halcombe there, as the sea air would do them good. I was to look for suitable accommodation for them.

“But who will take care of Miss Halcombe in my absence?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Count Fosco. “She’ll be very well looked after. We’ve found an excellent woman in the village, Mrs. Rubelle, who will help Lady Glyde nurse her. In any case, she’s beginning to get better again.”

I didn’t like the sound of this at all. But I had no choice except to do as I was ordered. I left for Torquay that evening.

I was away for three days, during which time I was quite unable to find any suitable accommodation for the two ladies at the price which Sir Percival had told me he would pay. On my return to Blackwater Park, I found that great changes had taken place. Count Fosco had gone to London and Lady Glyde had not been out of her room for two days.

I went upstairs at once to see her. She was very pleased to see me, but she was clearly weak and depressed. She was also anxious about Miss Halcombe, as she had heard no news of her sister for two days.

I assisted Lady Glyde her to dress. When she was ready we both left the room together to go to Miss Halcombe. We were stopped in the passage by Sir Percival.

“Where are you going?” he said to Lady Glyde.

“To Marian’s room,” she answered.

“You will not find her there,” remarked Sir Percival.

“Not find her there!”

“No. She left the house yesterday morning with Fosco and his wife.”

Lady Glyde turned fearfully pale, and leaned back against the wall, looking at her husband in dead silence.

I was so astonished myself that I hardly knew what to say. I asked Sir Percival if he really meant that Miss Halcombe had left Blackwater Park.

“I certainly mean it,” he answered.

“In her state, Sir Percival! Without telling Lady Glyde!”

Before he could reply Lady Glyde recovered herself a little and spoke.

“Impossible!” she cried out in a loud, frightened manner, taking a step or two forward from the wall. “Where was the doctor? Where was Mr. Dawson when Marian went away?”

“Mr. Dawson wasn’t wanted, and wasn’t here,” said Sir Percival. “He left. If you don’t believe she has gone, look for yourself. Open her room door, and all the other room doors if you like.”

She took him at his word, and I followed her. There was no one in Miss Halcombe’s room but Margaret Porcher, who was busy setting it to rights. There was no one in the spare rooms, too. Sir Percival still waited for us in the passage. As we were leaving the last room that we had examined Lady Glyde whispered, “Don’t go, Mrs. Michelson! Don’t leave me, for God’s sake!” Before I could say anything in return she was out again in the passage, speaking to her husband.

“What does it mean, Sir Percival? I insist – I beg and pray you will tell me what it means.”

“It means,” he answered, “that Miss Halcombe was strong enough yesterday morning to sit up and be dressed, and that she insisted on leaving with Fosco to London.”

“To London!”

“Yes – on her way to Limmeridge. With Mrs. Rubelle.”

Lady Glyde turned and appealed to me.

“You saw Miss Halcombe last,” she said. “Tell me plainly, Mrs. Michelson, did you think she looked fit to travel?”

“Not in my opinion, your ladyship.”

Sir Percival instantly turned.

“If she had not been well enough to be moved do you think we should any of us have risked letting her go?”

“Why does Marian go to Limmeridge and leave me here by myself?” said her ladyship, interrupting Sir Percival.

“Because your uncle won’t receive you till he has seen your sister first,” he replied.

Poor Lady Glyde’s eyes filled with tears.

“Marian never left me before,” she said, “without bidding me good-bye.”

Sir Percival left us suddenly.

Lady Glyde went back to her room. Suddenly she stopped in the passage.

“Something has happened to my sister!” she said. “I must follow Marian. I must go where she has gone, I must see that she is alive and well with my own eyes. Come! come down with me to Sir Percival.”

“Why should she not be?” said Sir Percival. “But yes, you can go. I’ll write to Count Fosco today and tell him to expect you by the midday train tomorrow. He’ll meet you at the station in London and take you to his house, where you can be reunited with your sister. You can stay there for a few days and then travel on to Limmeridge House together.”

“There is no necessity for Count Fosco to meet me,” said Lady Glyde. “I would rather not stay in London to sleep.”

“You must. You can’t take the whole journey to Cumberland in one day. You must rest a night in London.”

The next day was fine and sunny. At a quarter to twelve, Lady Glyde was ready to leave. She was waiting downstairs for the horse and carriage, when Sir Percival appeared.

He informed her that he had to go out and wouldn’t be able to go with her to the station. He asked me to go instead, which I was very glad to do. I felt so sorry for Lady Glyde.

Just as he was about to leave the room, Lady Glyde stopped him at the door and put out her hand.

“I shall see you no more,” she said. “This is our parting – our parting, it may be for ever. Will you try to forgive me, Percival, as heartily as I forgive you?”

“I shall come back,” he turned pale and left the room quickly.

The gardener drove us to the station and we arrived just in time for Lady Glyde to catch her train.

“I wish you were coming with me,” she said. “You have been so kind to Marian and myself and I’ll never forget it.”

As the train began to move off, I saw her pale quiet face looking sorrowfully out of the window. She waved her hand, and was gone.

When I returned to Blackwater Park, I went for a walk in the garden. Suddenly I saw a strange woman gathering the flowers. As I approached she heard me, and turned round.

* * *

My blood curdled in my veins. The strange woman in the garden was Mrs. Rubelle.

I could neither move nor speak. She came up to me with her flowers in her hand.

“What is the matter, ma’am?” she said quietly.

“You here!” I gasped out. “Not gone to London! Not gone to Cumberland!”

“Certainly not,” she said. “I have never left Blackwater Park.”

I put another question.

“Where is Miss Halcombe?”

Mrs. Rubelle fairly laughed at me this time, and replied in these words —

“Miss Halcombe, ma’am, has not left Blackwater Park either. Here is Sir Percival, ma’am, returned from his ride.”

“Well, Mrs. Michelson,” he said, “you have found it out at last, have you? Miss Halcombe is safe in one of the bedrooms at this moment. If you don’t believe me, come and see her for yourself.”

He led the way to the oldest part of the house. When I went into the room Miss Halcombe was asleep. I looked at her anxiously, as she lay in the dismal, high, old-fashioned bed. The room was dreary, and dusty, and dark, but the window was opened to let in the fresh air.

“Sir Percival,” I said, “you have deceived me and you have deceived your wife cruelly. I don’t know why you’ve done this, but I wish to resign from your service immediately.”

“Very well,” replied Sir Percival, “but if you go now, there will be nobody left to look after Miss Halcombe. Mrs. Rubelle is leaving now and I’m leaving tonight.”

As a human being, I knew I couldn’t leave Miss Halcombe alone. I knew I had to stay with her until she was better.

That night I saw Sir Percival leave. He jumped on his horse and rode off, his face pale as a ghost in the moonlight.

That was the last time I ever saw Sir Percival Glyde. My own part of this sad family story is now drawing to an end.