The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (portable ebook reader txt) 📕

got up. I thought he was going. No. More talk, more time for the development of infectious influences⁠—in my room, too⁠—remember that, in my room!

“One moment yet,” he said, “one moment before I take my leave. I ask permission at parting to impress on you an urgent necessity. It is this, sir. You must not think of waiting till Miss Halcombe recovers before you receive Lady Glyde. Miss Halcombe has the attendance of the doctor, of the housekeeper at Blackwater Park, and of an experienced nurse as well⁠—three persons for whose capacity and devotion I answer with my life. I tell you that. I tell you, also, that the anxiety and alarm of her sister’s illness has already affected the health and spirits of Lady Glyde, and has made her totally unfit to be of use in the sickroom. Her position with her husband grows more and more deplorable and dangerous every day. If you leave her any longer at Blackwater Park, you do nothing whatever to hasten her sister’s recovery, and at the same time, you risk the public scandal, which you and I, and all of us, are bound in the sacred interests of the family to avoid. With all my soul, I advise you to remove the serious responsibility of delay from your own shoulders by writing to Lady Glyde to come here at once. Do your affectionate, your honourable, your inevitable duty, and whatever happens in the future, no one can lay the blame on you. I speak from my large experience⁠—I offer my friendly advice. Is it accepted⁠—Yes, or No?”

I looked at him⁠—merely looked at him⁠—with my sense of his amazing assurance, and my dawning resolution to ring for Louis and have him shown out of the room expressed in every line of my face. It is perfectly incredible, but quite true, that my face did not appear to produce the slightest impression on him. Born without nerves⁠—evidently born without nerves.

“You hesitate?” he said. “Mr. Fairlie! I understand that hesitation. You object⁠—see, sir, how my sympathies look straight down into your thoughts!⁠—you object that Lady Glyde is not in health and not in spirits to take the long journey, from Hampshire to this place, by herself. Her own maid is removed from her, as you know, and of other servants fit to travel with her, from one end of England to another, there are none at Blackwater Park. You object, again, that she cannot comfortably stop and rest in London, on her way here, because she cannot comfortably go alone to a public hotel where she is a total stranger. In one breath, I grant both objections⁠—in another breath, I remove them. Follow me, if you please, for the last time. It was my intention, when I returned to England with Sir Percival, to settle myself in the neighbourhood of London. That purpose has just been happily accomplished. I have taken, for six months, a little furnished house in the quarter called St. John’s Wood. Be so obliging as to keep this fact in your mind, and observe the programme I now propose. Lady Glyde travels to London (a short journey)⁠—I myself meet her at the station⁠—I take her to rest and sleep at my house, which is also the house of her aunt⁠—when she is restored I escort her to the station again⁠—she travels to this place, and her own maid (who is now under your roof) receives her at the carriage-door. Here is comfort consulted⁠—here are the interests of propriety consulted⁠—here is your own duty⁠—duty of hospitality, sympathy, protection, to an unhappy lady in need of all three⁠—smoothed and made easy, from the beginning to the end. I cordially invite you, sir, to second my efforts in the sacred interests of the family. I seriously advise you to write, by my hands, offering the hospitality of your house (and heart), and the hospitality of my house (and heart), to that injured and unfortunate lady whose cause I plead today.”

He waved his horrid hand at me⁠—he struck his infectious breast⁠—he addressed me oratorically, as if I was laid up in the House of Commons. It was high time to take a desperate course of some sort. It was also high time to send for Louis, and adopt the precaution of fumigating the room.

In this trying emergency an idea occurred to me⁠—an inestimable idea which, so to speak, killed two intrusive birds with one stone. I determined to get rid of the Count’s tiresome eloquence, and of Lady Glyde’s tiresome troubles, by complying with this odious foreigner’s request, and writing the letter at once. There was not the least danger of the invitation being accepted, for there was not the least chance that Laura would consent to leave Blackwater Park while Marian was lying there ill. How this charmingly convenient obstacle could have escaped the officious penetration of the Count, it was impossible to conceive⁠—but it had escaped him. My dread that he might yet discover it, if I allowed him any more time to think, stimulated me to such an amazing degree, that I struggled into a sitting position⁠—seized, really seized, the writing materials by my side, and produced the letter as rapidly as if I had been a common clerk in an office. “Dearest Laura, Please come, whenever you like. Break the journey by sleeping in London at your aunt’s house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian’s illness. Ever affectionately yours.” I handed these lines, at arm’s length, to the Count⁠—I sank back in my chair⁠—I said, “Excuse me⁠—I am entirely prostrated⁠—I can do no more. Will you rest and lunch downstairs? Love to all, and sympathy, and so on. Good-morning.”

He made another speech⁠—the man was absolutely inexhaustible. I closed my eyes⁠—I endeavoured to hear as little as possible. In spite of my endeavours I was obliged to hear a great deal. My sister’s endless husband congratulated himself, and congratulated me, on the result of our interview⁠—he mentioned a great deal more about his sympathies