The Woman in White / Женщина в белом

“Yes, miss – I told them Sir Percival Glyde was coming. I hope there was no harm in it – I hope I didn’t do wrong.”

“Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong,” Marian said kindly.

We stopped and looked at one another the moment we were alone again.

“Is there any doubt in your mind, now, Miss Halcombe?”

The expression on Marian’s face was very serious.

“Sir Percival Glyde shall remove that doubt, Mr. Hartright – or Laura Fairlie shall never be his wife.”

* * *

As we walked round to the front of the house, a horse and carriage approached us along the drive. Mr. Gilmore had arrived.

I looked at him, when we were introduced to each other, with an interest and a curiosity which I could hardly conceal.

Mr. Gilmore’s complexion was florid – his white hair was worn rather long and kept carefully brushed – his black coat, waistcoat, and trousers fitted him very well – his white cravat was carefully tied. He had an air of kindness which was very pleasing.

My hours were numbered at Limmeridge House – my departure the next morning was settled. I knew that Marian and Mr Gilmore would have a lot to talk about so I didn’t follow them inside. Instead I turned back into the garden and began to wander about alone, along the paths where we had spent so many happy times in the summer.

Now it was winter and everything had changed. The flowers with leaves had all gone, and the earth was bare and cold. Everything reminded me of the happy times when I had walked with Laura. I remembered her warm smile and her sweet voice and the conversations we had had. But now there was no Laura and only a frozen emptiness remained.

I could bear it no longer. The empty silence of the beach struck cold to my heart. I returned to the house and the garden.

On the west terrace walk I met Mr. Gilmore. He was evidently in search of me. “You are the very person I wanted to see,” said the old gentleman. “I had two words to say to you, my dear sir. Miss Halcombe and I have been talking over family affairs, and in the course of our conversation she said about the anonymous letter. You have acted well, Mr Hartright, and done everything you could. You have been of great help to Marian and Laura, and I owe you many thanks for that. Now I want to tell you that I’ll take over the matter. It is in safe hands – my hands.”

“May I ask what you are going to do?” I said.

“I’m going to send a copy of the letter to Sir Percival Glyde at once. He’ll be able to look at it before he comes here. He has an excellent reputation and a very high position in society. I’m sure he’ll give us a very satisfactory explanation when he arrives on Monday. The letter itself I shall keep here to show to Sir Percival as soon as he arrives. This is all that can be done until Sir Percival comes on Monday. I have no doubt myself that every explanation which can be expected from a gentleman and a man of honour, he will readily give. Sir Percival stands very high, sir – an eminent position, a reputation above suspicion – I feel quite easy about results – quite easy, I am rejoiced to assure you. Things of this sort happen constantly in my experience. Anonymous letters – unfortunate woman – sad state of society. The case itself is, most unhappily, common. We will wait for events – yes, yes, yes – we will wait for events. Charming place this. Charming place, though, and delightful people. You draw and paint, I hear, Mr. Hartright? What style?”

Mr Gilmore then changed the conversation to general subjects and we walked back to the house together. It was nearly time for dinner so I went to my room and waited there until I heard the dinner bell ring. Then I went downstairs.

I determined to end it. I told Marian the reasons to hasten my departure.

“No, no,” she said, earnestly and kindly, “leave us like a friend. Stay here and dine, stay here and help us to spend our last evening with you as happily, as like our first evenings, as we can. It is my invitation – ”she hesitated a little, and then added, “Laura’s invitation as well.”

I promised to remain. My own room was the best place for me till the dinner bell rang. I waited there till it was time to go downstairs.

I had not spoken to Miss Fairlie – I had not even seen her – all that day. And now our last evening together had come. She was wearing a pretty dark-blue dress – the one which was my favourite. She looked more beautiful than ever – beautiful but sad. She came forward to meet me and gave me her hand. She was trying hard to be as normal as possible, but her smile, usually so warm, was very faint and her fingers were as cold as ice.

As we sat through dinner I pretended to be happy, but I felt as if my heart was breaking. Mr. Gilmore and Marian did most of the talking. Mr. Gilmore noticed nothing wrong and told stories and jokes. Laura sat silently. Now and again her eyes would meet mine, and then she would look away.

At last the meal ended and we all went through to the sitting room. Mr. Gilmore and Marian got out the card table and started to play cards. I stood still, not knowing where to go or what to do next.

Mr. Gilmore was a great assistance to us. He was in high good humour, and he led the conversation.

“Shall I play some of those little melodies of Mozart’s which you used to like so much?” asked Laura, opening the music nervously, and looking down at it while she spoke.

Before I could thank her she hastened to the piano. The chair near it, which I had always been accustomed to occupy, stood empty. She struck a few chords – then glanced round at me – then looked back again at her music.

“Won’t you take your old place?” she said, speaking very abruptly and in very low tones.

“I may take it on the last night,” I answered.

She did not reply – she listened to the music – music which she knew by memory, which she had played over and over again, in former times, without the book.

“I am very sorry you are going,” she said, her voice almost sinking to a whisper, her eyes looking more and more intently at the music, her fingers flying over the keys of the piano with a strange energy which I had never noticed in her before.

“I shall remember those kind words, Miss Fairlie, long after tomorrow has come and gone.”

“Don’t speak of tomorrow,” she said. “Let the music speak to us of tonight, in a happier language than ours.”

Her lips trembled, her face grew even paler, and she turned away from me quickly.

At last the time had come to say goodnight. Mr. Gilmore stood and shook my hand warmly.

“It was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr Hartright,” he said. “I do hope we’ll meet again. And don’t worry about that little matter of business which we spoke about. It’s quite safe in my hands. Goodbye and have a good journey!”

The next morning I went downstairs at half past seven. Both Marian and Laura were in the breakfast room. Laura got up and ran from the room.

Marian took my hands and pressed them in her own.

“I’ll write to you,” she said. “You’ve been like a brother to me and Laura. Thank you so much for everything. I’ll watch you leave from upstairs. Goodbye.”

She too left the room and I remained alone for a few minutes, looking sadly out of the window at the winter scene outside.

Then I heard the door open again and the soft sound of a woman’s dress moving over the carpet. My heart beat quickly as I turned round. It was Laura, holding something in her hand.

“I only went to get this,” she said, holding out a little sketch. “I hope it will remind you of your friends here.”

It was drawn in her own hand and was of the summer house where we’d first met. My hand trembled as I took it from her. I was afraid to say what I really felt, so I just said,

“It will never leave me – it will stay beside me for the rest of my life.”

“Please promise me something. Promise me that if ever a time comes when you need help, you will remember me – the poor drawing master who taught you. Promise you’ll let me know.”

“I promise,” she replied. “I promise with all my heart. Oh, please don’t look at me like that.”

I had moved closer to her and taken her hand in mine. I held her hand fast and looked into her eyes while the tears were flowing down her cheeks.

“For God’s sake, leave me!” she cried out.

At that moment I knew that Laura loved me too.

I dropped her hand. Through the tears which blinded my own eyes, I saw her for the last time. She sank into a chair with her arms on the table and her head resting on them.

One farewell look, and the door had closed upon her – the great gulf of separation had opened between us – the image of Laura Fairlie was a memory of the past already.