 Book I. CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE When Mr. Haubery joined his guests in the breakfast room, the strange contrast of character between them, which he had noticed already, was impressed on his mind more strongly than ever. One of them sat at the well-spread table, hungry and happy, ranging from dish to dish, and declaring that he had never made such a breakfast in his life. The other sat apart at the window, his cup thanklessly deserted before it was empty, his meat left ungraciously half-eaten on his plate. The doctor's morning greeting to the two accurately expressed the differing expressions which they had produced on his mind. He clapped Alan on the shoulder and saluted him with a joke. He bowed constrainably to midwinter and said, I am afraid you have not recovered the fatigues of the night. It's not the night, doctor, that has dampened his spirit, said Alan. It's something I have been telling him. It's not my fault, mind. If I had only known beforehand that he believed in dreams, I wouldn't have opened my lips. Dreams, repeated the doctor, looking at midwinter directly and addressing him under a mistaken impression of the meaning in Alan's words. With your constitution, you ought to be well used to dreaming by this time. This way, doctor, you have taken the wrong turning, cried Alan. I am the dreamer, not he. Don't look astonished. It wasn't in this comfortable house. It was on board that confounded timbership. The fact is, I fell asleep just before you took us off the wreck, and it's not to be denied that I had a very ugly dream. Well, when we got back here, why do you trouble Mr. Haubary about a matter that cannot possibly interest him, asked midwinter, speaking for the first time and speaking very impatiently? I beg your pardon, returned the doctor rather sharply. So far as I have heard, the matter does interest me. That's right, doctor, said Alan. Be interested, I beg and pray you. I want you to clear his head of the nonsense he has in it now. What do you think? He will have it that my dream is a warning to me to avoid certain people, and he actually persists in saying that one of those people is himself. Did you ever hear the like of it? I took great pains. I explained the whole thing to him. I said, warning be hanged, it's all indigestion. You don't know what I ate and drank at the doctor's supper table. I do. Do you think he would listen to me? Not he. You try him next. You're a professional man, and he must listen to you. Be a good fellow, doctor, and give me a certificate of indigestion. I'll show you my tongue with pleasure. The sight of your face is quite enough, said Mr. Haubary. I certify on the spot that you never had such a thing as indigestion in your life. Let's hear about the dream and see what we can make of it, if you have no objection, that is to say. Alan pointed at midwinter with his fork. Apply to my friend there, he said. He has got a much better account of it than I can give you. If you'll believe me, he took it all down in writing from my own lips, and he made me sign it at the end, as if it was my last dying speech and confession before I went to the gallows. Out with it, old boy. I saw you put it in your pocketbook, out with it. Are you really an earnest, asked midwinter, producing his pocketbook with a reluctance, which was almost offensive under the circumstances, for it implied distrust of the doctor in the doctor's own house? Mr. Haubary's color rose. Pray don't show it to me if you feel the least unwillingness, he said, with the elaborate politeness of an offended man. Stuff and nonsense, cried Alan. Throw it over here. Instead of complying with that characteristic request, midwinter took the paper from the pocketbook and leaving his place approached Mr. Haubary. I beg your pardon, he said, as he offered the doctor the manuscript with his own hand. His eyes dropped to the ground and his face darkened while he made the apology. A secret sullen fellow thought the doctor, thanking him with formal civility. His friend is worth ten thousand of him. Midwinter went back to the window and sat down again in silence, with the old impenetrable resignation which had once puzzled Mr. Brock. Read that, said Alan, as Mr. Haubary opened the written paper. It's not told in my roundabout way, but there's nothing added to it and nothing taken away. It's exactly what I dreamed and exactly what I should have written myself if I had thought the thing worth putting down on paper, and if I had the lack of writing, which, concluded Alan, composedly stirring his coffee. I haven't, except its letters, and I rattle them off at no time. Mr. Haubary spread the manuscript before him on the breakfast table and read these lines. Alan Armadale's Dream Early on the morning of June the 1st, 1851, I found myself, through circumstances which it is not important to mention in this place, left alone with a friend of mine, a young man about my own age, on board the French timbership named La Grèce de Dieu, which ship then lay wrecked in the channel of the sound between the mainland of the island of man and the islet called the calf. Having not been in bed the previous night and feeling overcome by fatigue, I fell asleep on the deck of the vessel. I was in my usual good health at the time, and the morning was far enough advanced for the sun to have risen. Under these circumstances, and at that period of the day, I passed from sleeping to dreaming. As clearly as I can recollect it, after the lapse of a few hours, this was the succession of events presented to me by the dream. One. The first event of which I was conscious was the appearance of my father. He took me silently by the hand, and we found ourselves in the cabin of a ship. Two. Water rose slowly over us in the cabin, and I and my father sank through the water together. Three. An interval of oblivion followed, and then the same sense came to me of being left alone in the darkness. Four. I waited. Five. The darkness opened and showed me the vision as in a picture of a broad, lonely pool surrounded by open ground. Above the farther margin of the pool, I saw the cloudless western sky, red with a light of sunset. Six. On the near margin of the pool, there stood the shadow of a woman. Seven. It was the shadow only. No indication was visible to me by which I could identify it, or compare it with any living creature. The long robe showed me that it was the shadow of a woman, and showed me nothing more. Eight. The darkness closed again, remained with me for an interval, and opened for the second time. Nine. I found myself in a room standing before a long window. The only object of furniture or of ornament that I saw, or that I can now remember having seen, was a little statue placed near me. The window opened on a lawn and flower garden, and the rain was pattering heavily against the glass. Ten. I was not alone in the room. Standing opposite to me at the window was the shadow of a man. Eleven. I saw no more of it. I knew no more of it than I saw and knew of the shadow of the woman. But the shadow of the man moved. It stretched out its arm toward the statue, and the statue fell in fragments on the floor. Twelve. With a confused sensation in me, which was partly anger and partly distress, I stooped to look at the fragments. When I rose again, the shadow had vanished, and I saw no more. Thirteen. The darkness opened for the third time, and showed me the shadow of the woman and the shadow of the man together. Fourteen. No surrounding scene, or none that I can now call to mind, was visible to me. Fifteen. The man's shadow was the nearest. The woman's shadow stood back. From where she stood, there came a sound as of the pouring of a liquid softly. I saw her touch the shadow of the man with one hand, and with the other give him a glass. He took the glass and gave it to me. In the moment when I put it to my lips, a deadly faintness mastered me from head to foot. When I came to my senses again, the shadows had vanished, and the third vision was at an end. Sixteen. The darkness closed over me again, and the interval of oblivion followed. Seventeen. I was conscious of nothing more, till I felt the morning sun shine on my face, and heard my friend tell me that I had awakened from a dream. After reading the narrative attentively to the last line, under which appeared Alan's signature, the doctor looked across the table at midwinter, and tapped his fingers on the manuscript with a satirical smile. Many men, many opinions, he said. I don't agree with either of you about this dream. Your theory, he added, looking at Alan with a smile, we have disposed of already. The supper that you can't digest is the supper which has yet to be discovered. My theory we will come to presently. Your friend's theory claims attention first. He turned again to midwinter with his anticipated triumph over a man whom he disliked a little too plainly visible in his face and manner. If I understand rightly, he went on, you believe that this dream is a warning supernaturally addressed to Mr. Armadale of dangerous events that are threatening him, and of dangerous people connected with those events whom he would do wisely to avoid. May I inquire whether you have arrived at this conclusion as a habitual believer in dreams, or as having reasons of your own for attaching a special importance to this one dream in particular? You have stated what my conviction is quite accurately, returned midwinter, chafing under the doctor's looks and tones. Excuse me if I ask you to be satisfied with that admission and to let me keep my reasons to myself. That's exactly what he said to me, Interposed Alan. I don't believe he has got any reasons at all. Gently, gently said Mr. Halbury. We can discuss the subject without intruding ourselves into anybody's secrets. Let us come to my own method of dealing with the dream next. Mr. Midwinter will probably not be surprised to hear that I look at this matter from an essentially practical point of view. I shall not be at all surprised, retorted Midwinter. The view of a medical man, when he has a problem in humanity to solve, seldom ranges beyond the point of his dissecting knife. The doctor was a little nettle on his side. Our limits are not quite so narrow as that, he said, but I willingly grant you that there are some articles of your faith which we doctors don't believe. For example, we don't believe that a reasonable man is justified in attaching a supernatural interpretation to any phenomenon which comes within the range of his senses, until he has certainly ascertained that there is no such thing as a natural explanation of it to be found in the first instance. Come, that's fair enough, I'm sure, exclaimed Allen. He hit you hard with the dissecting knife doctor, and now you have hit him back again with your natural explanation. Let's have it. By all means, said Mr. Halbury, here it is. There is nothing at all extraordinary in my theory of dreams. It is the theory accepted by the great mass of my profession. A dream is a reproduction in the sleeping state of the brain of images and impressions produced on it in the waking state, and this reproduction is more or less involved in perfect or contradictory as the action of certain facilities in the dreamer is controlled more or less completely by the influence of sleep. Without inquiring further into this latter part of the subject, a very curious and interesting part of it, let us now take the theory, roughly and generally, as I have just stated it, and apply it at once to the dream now under consideration. He took up the written paper from the table and dropped the formal tone, as of a lecturer addressing an audience into which he had insensibly fallen. I see one event already in this dream, he resumed, which I know to be the reproduction of a waking impression produced on Mr. Armadale in my own presence. If you will only help me by exerting his memory, I don't despair of tracing back the whole succession of events set down here to something that he has said or thought, or seen or done in the four and twenty hours or less, which preceded his falling asleep on the deck of the timbership. I'll exert my memory with the greatest pleasure, said Alan. Where shall we start from? Start by telling me what you did yesterday, before I met you and your friend on the road to this place, replied Mr. Hobbery. We shall say you got up and had your breakfast. What next? We took a carriage next, said Alan, and drove back from Castle Town to Douglas to see my old friend Mr. Brock off by steamer to Liverpool. We came back to Castle Town and separated at the hotel door. Midwinter went into the house, and I went on to my yacht in the harbor. By the by, doctor, remember you have promised to go cruising with us before we leave the Isle of Man. Many thanks, but supposedly keep to the matter in hand. What next? Alan hesitated. In both senses of the word, his mind was at sea already. What did you do on board the yacht? Oh, I know. I put the cabin to rights, thoroughly to rights. I give you my word of honor. I turned every blessed thing topsy-turvy. And my friend there came off in a shoreboat and helped me. Talking of boats, I have never asked you yet whether your boat came to any harm last night. If there is any damage done, I insist on being allowed to repair it. The doctor abandoned all further attempts at the cultivation of Alan's memory and despair. I doubt if we shall be able to reach our object conveniently in this way, he said. It will be better to take the events of the dream in their regular order and to ask the questions that naturally suggest themselves as we go on. Here are the first two events to begin with. Your dream that your father appears to you, that you and he find yourselves in the cabin of a ship, that the water rises over you and you sink in it together. Were you down in the cabin of the wreck, may I ask? I couldn't be down there, replied Alan, as the cabin was full of water. I looked in and saw it and shut the door again. Very good, said Mr. Hobbery. Here are the waking impressions clear enough so far. You have had the cabin in your mind, and you have had the water in your mind and the sound of the channel current, as I well know without asking, was the last sound in your ears when you went to sleep. The idea of drowning comes too naturally out of such impressions as these to need dwelling on. Is there anything else before we go on? Yes, there is one more circumstance left to account for. The most important circumstance of all, remarked Midwinter, joining in the conversation without stirring from its place at the window. You mean the appearance of Mr. Armadale's father? I was just coming to that, answered Mr. Hobbery. Is your father alive? he added, addressing himself to Alan once more. My father died before I was born. The doctor started. This complicates it a little, he said. How did you know that the figure appearing to you in the dream was the figure of your father? Alan hesitated again. Midwinter drew his chair a little away from the window, and looked at the doctor attentively for the first time. Was your father in your thoughts before you went to sleep, pursued Mr. Hobbery? Was there any description of him, any portrait of him at home in your mind? Of course there was, cried Alan, suddenly seizing a lost recollection. Midwinter, you remember the miniature you found on the floor of the cabin when we were putting the yacht to rights? You said I didn't seem to value it, and I told you I did because it was a portrait of my father. And was the face in the dream like the face in the miniature? asked Mr. Hobbery. Exactly like, I say doctor, this is beginning to get interesting. What do you say now? asked Mr. Hobbery, turning toward the window again. Midwinter hurriedly left his chair, and placed himself at the table with Alan. Just as he had once already taken refuge from the tyranny of his own superstition in the comfortable common sense of Mr. Brock. So with the same headlong eagerness, with the same straightforward sincerity of purpose, he now took refuge in the doctor's theory of dreams. I say what my friend says, he answered, flushing with a sudden enthusiasm. This is beginning to get interesting. Go on, pray, go on. The doctor looked at his strange guest more indulgently than he had looked yet. You are the only mystic I have met with, he said, who is willing to give fair evidence, fair play. I don't despair of converting you before our inquiry comes to an end. Let us get on to the next set of elements, he resumed, after referring for a moment to the manuscript. The interval of oblivion, which is described as succeeding the first of the appearances in the dream, may be easily disposed of. It means, in plain English, the momentary cessation of the brain's intellectual action, while a deeper wave of sleep flows over it, just as the sense of being alone in the darkness which follows indicates the renewal of that action, previous to the reproduction of another set of impressions. Let us see what they are. A lonely pool surrounded by an open country, a sunset sky on the further side of the pool, and the shadow of a woman on the near side. Very good. Now for it, Mr. Armadale, how did that pool get into your head? The open country you saw on your way from Castletown to this place. But we have no pools or lakes hereabouts, and you can have seen none recently elsewhere, for you came here after a cruise at sea. Must we fall back on a picture or a book or a conversation with your friend? Alan looked at Midwinter. I don't remember talking about pools or lakes, he said. Do you? Instead of answering the question, Midwinter suddenly appealed to the Doctor. Have you got the last number of the Manx newspaper, he asked? The Doctor produced it from the sideboard. Midwinter turned to the page, containing those extracts from the recently published Travels to Australia, which had roused Alan's interest on a previous evening, and the reading of which had ended by sending his friend to sleep. There, in the passage describing the sufferings of the Travelers from Thirst, and the subsequent discovery which saved their lives, there, appearing at the climax of the narrative, was the broad pool of water which had figured in Alan's dream. Don't put away the paper, said the Doctor, when Midwinter had shown it to him with the necessary explanation. Before we are at the end of the inquiry, it is quite possible we may want that extract again. We have got at the pool. How about the sunset? Nothing of that sort is referred to in the newspaper extract. Search your memory again, Mr. Armadale. We want your waking impression of a sunset, if you please. Once more, Alan was at a loss for an answer, and once more, Midwinter's ready memory helped him through the difficulty. I think I can trace our way back to this impression, as I traced our way back to the other, he said, addressing the Doctor. After we got here yesterday afternoon, my friend and I took a long walk over the hills. That's it, Interposed Alan. I remember, the sun was setting as we came back to the hotel for supper, and it was such a splendid red sky that we both stopped to look at it. And then we talked about Mr. Brock, and wondered how far he had got on his journey home. My memory may be a slow one at starting, Doctor, but when it's once set going, stop it if you can. I haven't half done yet. Wait one minute in mercy to Mr. Midwinter's memory and mine, said the Doctor. We have traced back to your waking impressions, the vision of the open country, the pool, and the sunset. But the shadow of a woman has not been accounted for yet. Can you find us the original of this mysterious figure in the dream landscape? Alan relapsed into his former perplexity, and Midwinter waited for what was to come, with his eyes fixed in breathless interest on the Doctor's face. For the first time, there was unbroken silence in the room. Mr. Hobbery looked interrogatively from Alan to Alan's friend. Neither of them answered him. But between the shadow and the shadow's substance, there was a great gulf of mystery, impenetrable alike to all three of them. Patience, said the Doctor, composedly. Let us leave the figure by the pool for the present, and try if we can't pick her up again as we go on. Allow me to observe, Mr. Midwinter, that it is not very easy to identify a shadow, but we won't despair. This impalpable lady of the lake may take some consistency when we next meet her. Midwinter made no reply. From that moment, his interest in the inquiry began to flag. What is the next scene in the dream? Pursued Mr. Hobbery, referring to the manuscript. Mr. Armadale finds himself in a room. He is standing before a long window, opening on a lawn and flower garden, and the rain is pattering against the glass. The only thing he sees in the room is a little statue, and the only company he has is the shadow of a man standing opposite to him. The shadow stretches out its arm, and the statue falls in fragments on the floor. And the dreamer, in anger and distress at this catastrophe, observe, gentlemen, doubt here the sleeper's reasoning facility wakes up a little, and the dream passes rationally from a moment, from cause to effect. Stoops to look at the broken pieces. When he looks up again, the scene is vanished. That is to say, in the ebb and flow of sleep, it is the turn of the flow now, and the brain rests a little. What is the matter, Mr. Armadale? Has that rest of memory of yours run away with you again? Yes, said Allen. I am off at full gallop. I have run the broken statue to earth. It is nothing more nor less than a china shepherdess I knocked off the mantelpiece in the hotel coffee room when I rang the bell for supper last night. I say, how well we get on, don't we? It is like guessing a riddle. Now, then, midwinter, your turn next. No, said the doctor. My turn, if you please. I claim the long window, the garden, and the lawn as my property. You will find the long window, Mr. Armadale, in the next room. If you look out, you'll see the garden and lawn in front of it, and if you'll exert that wonderful memory of yours, you will recollect that you were good enough to take special and complimentary notice of my smart French window and my neat garden when I drove you and your friend to Port St. Mary yesterday. Quite right, rejoined Allen, so I did. But what about the rain that fell in the dream? I haven't seen a drop of rain for the last week. Mr. Harbury hesitated. The Manx newspaper, which had been left on the table, caught his eye. If we can think of nothing else, he said, let us try if we can't get the idea of the rain where we found the idea of the pool. He looked through the extract carefully. I have got it, he exclaimed. Here is rain described as having fallen on these thirsty Australian travelers before they discovered the pool. Behold the shower, Mr. Armadale, which got into your mind when you read the extract of your friend last night. And behold the dream, Mr. Midwinter, mixing up separate waking impressions just as usual. Can you find the waking impression, which accounts for the human figure at the window, as Midwinter, or are we to pass over the shadow of the man as we have passed over the shadow of the woman already? He put the question with scrupulous courtesy of manner, but with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, which caught the doctor's ear and set up the doctor's conversational bristles on the instant. When you are picking up shells on the beach, Mr. Midwinter, you usually begin with the shells that lie nearest at hand, here joined. We are picking up facts now, and those that are easiest to get at are the facts we will take first. Let the shadow of the man and the shadow of the woman pair off together for the present. We won't lose sight of them, I promise you. All in good time, my dear sir. All in good time. He too was polite, and he too was sarcastic. The short truce between the opponents was at an end already. Midwinter returned significantly to his former place by the window. The doctor instantly turned his back on the window more significantly still. Alan, who never quarreled with anybody's opinion, and never looked below the surface of anybody's conduct, drummed cheerfully on the table with the handle of his knife. Go on, doctor, he called out. My wonderful memory is as fresh as ever. Is it, said Mr. Halbury, referring again to the narrative of the dream? Do you remember what happened when you and I were gossiping with the landlady at the bar of the hotel last night? Of course I do. You were kind enough to hand me a glass of brandy and water, which the landlady had just mixed for your own drinking, and I was obliged to refuse it because, as I told you, the taste of brandy always turns me sick and faint. Mix it how you please. Exactly so returned the doctor, and here is the incident reproduced in the dream. You see the man's shadow and the woman's shadow together this time. You hear the pouring out of a liquid, brandy from the hotel bottle, and water from the hotel jug. The glass is handed by the woman's shadow, the landlady, to the man's shadow myself. The man's shadow hands it to you exactly what I did, and the faintness, which you had previously described to me, follows in due course. I am shocked to identify these mysterious appearances midwinter with such miserably unromantic originals as a woman who keeps a hotel and a man who physics a country district. But your friend himself will tell you that the glass of brandy and water was prepared by the landlady, and that it reached him by passing from her hand to mine. We have picked up the shadows exactly as I anticipated, and we have only to account now, which may be done in two words, for the manner of their appearance in the dream. After having tried to introduce the waking impression of the doctor and the landlady separately, in connection with a wrong set of circumstances, the dreaming mind comes right at the third trial and introduces the doctor and the landlady together in connection with the right set of circumstances. There it is in a nutshell. Permit me to hand you back the manuscript with my best thanks for your very complete and striking confirmation of the rational theory of dreams. Saying those words, Mr. Hobbery returned the written paper to midwinter with the pitiless politeness of a conquering man. Wonderful! Not a point missed anywhere from beginning to end, by Jupiter cried Allen with a ready reverence of intense ignorance. What a thing science is! Not a point missed, as you say, remarked the doctor complacently, and yet I doubt if we have succeeded in convincing your friend. You have not convinced me, said midwinter, but I don't presume on that account to say that you are wrong. He spoke quietly, almost sadly, the terrible conviction of the supernatural origin of the dream from which he had tried to escape had possessed itself of him again. All his interest in the argument was at an end. All his sensitiveness to its irritating influences was gone. In the case of any other man, Mr. Hobbery would have been molified by such a concession as his adversary has now made to him, but he disliked midwinter too cordially to leave him in the peaceful enjoyment of an opinion of his own. Do you admit, ask the doctor, more pugnaciously than ever, that I have traced back every event of the dream to a waking impression which preceded it in Mr. Armadale's mind? I have no wish to deny that you have done so, said midwinter, resignedly. Have I identified the shadows with their living originals? You have identified them to your own satisfaction, and to my friend's satisfaction, not to mine. Not to yours? Can you identify them? No. I can only wait to the living original stand revealed in the future. Spoken like an oracle, Mr. Midwinter, have you any idea at present of who those living originals may be? I have. I believe that coming events will identify the shadow of the woman with a person whom my friend has not met with yet, and the shadow of the man with myself. Alan attempted to speak. The doctor stopped him. Let us clearly understand this, he said to midwinter. Leaving your own case out of the question for the moment, may I ask how a shadow which has no distinguishing mark about it is to be identified with a living woman who your friend does not know? Midwinter's color rose a little. He began to feel the lash of the doctor's logic. The landscape picture of the dream has its distinguishing marks, he replied, and in that landscape, the living woman will appear when the living woman is first seen. The same thing will happen, I suppose, pursued the doctor, with the man shadow which you persist in identifying with yourself. You will be associated in the future with a statue broken in your friend's presence with a long window looking out on a garden and with a shower of rain pattering against the glass. Do you say that? I say that. And so I presume with the next vision, you and the mysterious woman will be brought together in some place now unknown and will present to Mr. Armadale some liquid yet unnamed which will turn him faint. Do you seriously tell me you believe this? I seriously tell you I believe it. And according to your view, these fulfillments of the dream will mark the progress of certain coming events in which Mr. Armadale's happiness or Mr. Armadale's safety will be dangerously involved? That is my firm conviction. The doctor rose, laid aside his moral dissecting knife, considered for a moment and took it up again. One last question, he said, have you any reason to give for going out of your way to adopt such a mystical view as this? When an unanswerably rational explanation of the dream lies straight before you, no reason, replied Midwinter, that I can give either to you or my friend. The doctor looked at his watch with the air of a man who is suddenly reminded that he has been wasting his time. We have no common ground to start from, he said, and if we talk till doomsday, we should not agree. Excuse my leaving you rather abruptly. It is later than I thought, and my morning's batch of sick people are waiting for me in the surgery. I have convinced your mind, Mr. Armadale, at any rate. So the time we have given to this discussion has not been altogether lost. Pray stop here and smoke your cigar. I shall be at your service again in less than an hour. He nodded cordially to Alan, bowed formally to Midwinter, and quitted the room. As soon as the doctor's back was turned, Alan left his place at the table and appealed to his friend with that irresistible heartiness of manner which had always found its way to Midwinter's sympathies from the first day when they met in the summer set you in. Now the sparring match between you and the doctor is over, said Alan. I have got two words to say on my side. Will you do something for my sake which you won't do for your own? Midwinter's face brightened instantly. I will do anything you ask of me, he said. Very well. Will you let the subject of the dream drop out of our talk altogether from this time forth? Yes, if you wish it. Will you go a step further? Will you leave off thinking about the dream? It's hard to leave off thinking about it, Alan, but I will try. That's a good fellow. Now give me that Trumpery bit of paper and let's tear it up and have done with it. He tried to snatch the manuscript out of his friend's hand, but Midwinter was too quick for him and kept it beyond his reach. Come, come, pleaded Alan. I've set my heart on lighting my cigar with it. Midwinter hesitated painfully. It was hard to resist Alan, but he did resist him. I'll wait a little, he said, before you light your cigar with it. How long? Till tomorrow? Longer. Till we leave the Isle of Man? Longer. Hang it. Give me a plain answer to a plain question. How long will you wait? Midwinter carefully restored the paper to its place in his pocketbook. I'll wait, he said, till we get to Thorpe Ambrose. The end of the first book. End of Chapter 5. Recording by Alan Winteroud. BoomCoach.blogspot.com End of Chapter 5. The end of the first book. Recording by Alan Winteroud. BoomCoach.blogspot.com Book 2, Chapter 1 of Armadale. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jordan. Armadale by Wilkie Collins. Book II. Chapter 1. Lurking Mischief. 1. From Osias Midwinter to Mr. Brock. Thorpe Ambrose. June 15, 1851. Dear Mr. Brock, only an hour since we reached this house, just as the servants were locking up for the night, Alan has gone to bed, worn out by our long day's journey, and has left me in the room they call the Libri, to tell you the story of our journey to Norfolk. Being better seasoned than he is to fatigues of all kinds, my eyes are quite wakeful enough for writing a letter, though the clock on the chimney piece points to midnight, and we have been travelling since ten in the morning. The last news you had of us was news sent by Alan from the Isle of Man. If I am not mistaken, he wrote to tell you of the night we passed on board the wrecked ship. Forgive me, dear Mr. Brock, if I say nothing on that subject, until time has helped me to think of it with a quieter mind. The hard fight against myself must all be fought over again, but I will win it yet, please God, I will indeed. There is no need to trouble you with any account of our journeyings about the northern and western districts of the island, or of the short cruises we took when the repairs of the yacht were at last complete. It will be better if I get on at once to the morning of yesterday, the fourteenth. We had come in with the night tide to Douglas Harbour, and as soon as the post office was open, Alan, by my advice, sent on shore for letters. The messenger returned with one letter only, and the writer of it proved to be the former mistress of Thorpe Ambrose, Mrs. Blanchard. You ought to be informed, I think, of the contents of this letter, for it has seriously influenced Alan's plans. He loses everything sooner or later, as you know, and he has lost the letter already. So I must give you the substance of what Mrs. Blanchard wrote to him, as plainly as I can. The first page announced the departure of the ladies from Thorpe Ambrose. They left on the day before yesterday, the thirteenth, having, after much hesitation, finally decided on going abroad to visit some old friends, settled in Italy, in the neighbourhood of Florence. It appears to be quite possible that Mrs. Blanchard and her niece may settle there, too, if they can find a suitable house and grounds to let. They both like the Italian country and the Italian people, and they are well enough off to please themselves. The elder lady has her jointure, and the younger is in possession of all her father's fortune. The next page of the letter was, in Alan's opinion, far from a pleasant page to read. After referring in the most grateful terms to the kindness which had left her niece and herself free to leave their old home at their own time, Mrs. Blanchard added that Alan's considerate conduct had produced such a strongly favourable impression among the friends and dependents of the family that they were desirous of giving him a public reception on his arrival among them. A preliminary meeting of the tenants on the estate and the principal persons in the neighbouring town had already been held to discuss the arrangements, and a letter might be expected shortly from the clergyman, inquiring when it would suit Mr. Armadale's convenience to take possession personally and publicly of his estates in Norfolk. You will now be able to guess the cause of our sudden departure on the Isle of Man. The first and foremost idea of your old pupil's mind, as soon as he had read Mrs. Blanchard's account of the proceedings at the meeting, was the idea of escaping the public reception, and the one certain way he could see of avoiding it was to start for Thorpe Ambrose before the clergyman's letter could reach him. I tried hard to make him think a little before he acted on his first impulse in this matter, but he only went on packing his portmanteau in his own impenetrably good-humoured way. In ten minutes his luggage was ready, and in five minutes more he had given the crew their directions for taking the yacht back to Somersetshire. The steamer to Liverpool was alongside of us in the harbour, and I had really no choice but to go on board with him or to let him go by himself. I spare you the account of our stormy voyage, of our detention at Liverpool, and of the trains we missed on our journey across the country. You know that we have got here safely, and that is enough. What the servants think of the new squire's sudden appearance among them without a word of warning is of no great consequence. What the Committee for Arranging the Public Reception may think of it when the news flies abroad tomorrow is, I am afraid, a more serious matter. Having already mentioned the servants, I may proceed to tell you that the latter part of Mrs Blanchard's letter was entirely devoted to instructing Alan on the subjects of the domestic establishment, which she has left behind her. It seems that all the servants, indoors and out, with three exceptions, are waiting here on the chance that Alan will continue them in their places. Two of these exceptions are readily accounted for. Mrs Blanchard's maid and Mrs Blanchard's maid go abroad with their mistresses. The third exceptional case is the case of the upper housemaid, and here there is a little hitch. In plain words, the housemaid has been sent away at a moment's notice, for what Mrs Blanchard rather mysteriously describes as levity of conduct with a stranger. I am afraid you will laugh at me, but I must confess the truth. I have been made so distrustful after what happened to us in the Isle of Man, of even the most trifling misadventures which connect themselves in any way with Alan's introduction to his new life and prospects, and I have already questioned one of the men's servants here about this apparently unimportant matter of the housemaids going away in disgrace. All I can learn is that a strange man had been noticed hanging suspiciously about the grounds, that the housemaid was so ugly a woman as to render it next to a certainty that he had some underhand purpose to serve in making himself agreeable to her, and that he has not as yet been seen again in the neighbourhood since the day of her dismissal. So much for the one servant who has been turned out at Thorpe Ambrose. I can only hope there is no trouble for Alan brewing in that quarter. As for the other servants who remain, Mrs Blanchard describes them, both men and women, as perfectly trustworthy, and they will all, no doubt, continue to occupy their present places. Having now done with Mrs Blanchard's letter, my next duty is to beg you, in Alan's name and with Alan's love, to come here and stay with him at the earliest moment when you can leave Somersetshire. Although I cannot presume to think that my own wishes will have any special influence in determining you to accept this invitation, I must nevertheless acknowledge that I have a reason of my own for earnestly desiring to see you here. Alan has innocently caused me a new anxiety about my future relations with him, and I sorely need your advice to show me the right way of setting that anxiety to rest. The difficulty, which now perplexes me, relates to the steward's place at Thorpe Ambrose. Before today, I only knew that Alan hit on some plan of his own for dealing with this matter, rather strangely involving, among other results, the letting of the cottage which was the old steward's place of abode, in consequence of the new steward's contemplated residence in the Great House. A chance word in our conversation on the journey here led Alan into speaking out more plainly than he had spoken yet, and I heard to my unutterable astonishment that the person who was at the bottom of the whole arrangement about the steward was no other than myself. It is needless to tell you how I felt this new instance of Alan's kindness, the first pleasure of hearing from his own lips that I had deserved at the strongest proof he could give of his confidence in me was soon dashed by the pain which mixes itself with all pleasure, at least with all that I have ever known. Never has my past life seemed so dreary to look back on as it seems now, when I feel how entirely it has unfitted me to take the place of all others that I should have liked to occupy in my friend's service. I must had courage to tell him that I had none of the business knowledge and business experience which his steward ought to possess. He generously met the objection by telling me that I could learn, and he has promised to send to London for the person who has already been employed for the time being in the steward's office, and who will therefore be perfectly competent to teach me. Do you too think I can learn? If you do, I will work day and night to instruct myself. But if, as I am afraid, the steward's duties are of far too serious a kind to be learned offhand by a man so young and so inexperienced as I am, then pray hasten your journey to Thorpe Ambrose and exert your influence over Alan personally. Nothing less will induce him to pass me over and to employ a steward who is really fit to take the place. Pray, pray act in this matter as you think best for Alan's interests. Whatever disappointment I may feel, he shall not see it. Believe me, dear Mr. Brock, gratefully yours, Osias Midwinter. P.S. I open the envelope again to add one more word. If you have heard or seen anything since your return to Somersetshire of the woman in the black dress and the red shawl, I hope you will not forget when you write to let me know it. O.M. M. 2. From Mrs. Aldershaw to Ms. Guilt Ladies' Toilet Repository Diana Street, Pimlico Wednesday My dear Lydia, to save the post I write to you after a long day's worry at my place of business on the business letter paper, having news since we last met which it seems advisable to send you at the earliest opportunity. To begin at the beginning, after carefully considering the thing, I am quite sure you will do wisely with young Armadale if you hold your tongue about Madeira and all that happened there. Your position was, no doubt, a very strong one with his mother. You had privately helped her in playing a trick on her own father. You had been ungratefully dismissed at a pitiably tender age as soon as you had served her purpose, and when you came upon her suddenly after a separation of more than 20 years, you found her in failing health with a grown-up son whom she had kept in total ignorance of the true story of her marriage. Have you any such advantages as these with the young gentleman who has survived her? If he is not a born idiot, he will decline to believe your shocking aspersions on the memory of his mother and seeing that you have no proofs at this distance of time to meet him with, there is an end of your money grubbing in the golden Armadale diggings. Mind, I don't dispute that the old lady's heavy debt of obligation that what you did for her in Madeira is not paid yet, and that the son is the next person to settle with you. Now the mother has slipped through your fingers. Only squeeze him the right way, my dear. That's what I venture to suggest. Squeeze him the right way. And which is the right way? That question brings me to my news. Have you thought again of that other notion of yours, of trying your hand on this lucky young gentleman with nothing but your own good looks and your quick wits to help you? The idea hung on my mind so strangely after you were gone that it ended in my sending a little note to my lawyer to have the will under which young Armadale has got his fortune examined at Doctor's Commons. The result turns out to be something infinitely more encouraging than either you or I could possibly have hoped for. After the lawyer's report to me, there cannot be a moment's doubt of what you ought to do. In two words, Lydia, take the bull by the horns and marry him. I am quite serious. He is much better worth this venture than you suppose. Only persuade him to make you Mrs. Armadale and you may set all after discoveries at flat defiance. As long as he lives, you can make your own terms with him. And if he dies, the will entitles you, in spite of anything he can say or do with children or without them, to an income chargeable on his estate of twelve hundred a year for life. There is no doubt about this. The lawyer himself has looked at the will. Of course, Mr. Blanchard had his son and his son's widow in his eye when he made the provision, but as it is not limited to any one heir by name and not revoked anywhere, it now holds as good with young Armadale as it would have held under other circumstances with Mr. Blanchard's son. What a chance for you, after all the miseries and the dangers you have gone through to be mistress of Thorpe Ambrose if he lives, to have an income for life if he dies. Hook him, my poor dear. Hook him at any sacrifice. I dare say you will make the same objection when you read this, which you made when we were talking about it the other day. I mean the objection of your age. Now, my good creature, just listen to me. The question is, not whether you were five and thirty last birthday, we will own the dreadful truth and say you were, but whether you do look or don't look your real age. My opinion on this matter ought to be and is one of the best opinions in London. I have had twenty years experience among our charming sex in making up battered old faces and worn out old figures to look like new, and I say positively, you don't look a day over thirty if as much. If you will follow my advice about dressing and use one or two of my applications privately, I guarantee to put you back three years more. I will forfeit all the money I shall have to advance for you in this matter if, when I have ground you young again in my wonderful mill, you look more than seven and twenty in any man's eyes living, except of course, when you wake anxious in the small hours of the morning, and then, my dear, you will be old and ugly in the retirement of your own room, and it won't matter. But you may say supposing all this here I am even with your art to help me looking a good six years older than he is, and that is against me at starting. Is it? Just think again. Surely your own experience must have shown you that the commonest of all common weaknesses in young fellows of this armadale's age is to fall in love with women older than themselves. Who are the men who really appreciate us in the bloom of our youth? I am sure I have cause to speak well of the bloom of youth. I made fifty guineas today by putting it on the spotted shoulders of a woman old enough to be your mother. Who are the men, I say, who are ready to worship us when we are mere babies of seventeen? The gay young gentlemen in the bloom of their own youth? No. The cunning old wretches who are on the wrong side of forty. And what is the moral of this, as the story books say? The moral is that the chances, with such a head as you have got on your shoulders, are all in your favour. If you feel you're present for long position, as I believe you do, if you know what a charming woman in the men's eyes you can still be when you please, and if all your resolution has really come back after that shocking outbreak of desperation on board the steamer, natural enough I own under the dreadful provocation laid on you, you will want no further persuasion from me to try this experiment, only to think of how things turn out. If the other young booby had not jumped into the river after you, this young booby would never have had the estate. It really looks as if fate had determined that you were to be Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, and who can control his fate, as the poet says. Send me one line to say yes or no, and believe me, you're attached old friend, Maria Aldershaw. Three, from Miss Guilt to Mrs. Aldershaw. Richmond, Thursday. You old wretch, I won't say yes or no till I have had a long, long look at my glass first. If you had any real regard for anybody but your wicked old self, you would know that the bare idea of marrying again, after what I have gone through, is an idea that makes my flesh creep. But there can be no harm in your sending me a little more information while I am making up my mind. You have got 20 pounds of mine, still left out of those things you sold for me. Send 10 pounds here for my expenses in a post office order, and use the other 10 for making private inquiries at Thorpe Ambrose. I want to know when the two Blanchard women go away, and when young Armadale stares up the dead ashes in the family fireplace. Are you quite sure he will turn out as easy to manage as you think? If he takes after his hypocrite of a mother, I can tell you this, Judas Iscariot has come to life again. I am very comfortable in this lodging. There are lovely flowers in the garden, and the birds wake me in the morning delightfully. I have hired a reasonably good piano. The only man I care too straws about, don't be alarmed, he was laid in his grave many a long year ago under the name of Bate Hoven, keeps me company in my lonely hours. The landlady would keep me company too, if I would only let her. I hate women. The new curate paid a visit to the other lodgy yesterday, and passed me on the lawn as he came out. My eyes have lost nothing yet, at any rate, though I am 5 and 30. The poor man actually blushed when I looked at him. What sort of colour do you think he would have turned if one of the little birds in the garden had whispered in his ear and told him the true story of the charming Miss Guilt? Goodbye, Mother Older Shore. I rather doubt whether I am yours or anybody's affectionately, but we all tell lies at the bottoms of our letters, don't we? If you are my attached old friend, I must, of course, be yours affectionately. Lydia Guilt. P.S. Keep your odious powders and paints and washes for the spotted shoulders of your customers. Not one of them shall touch my skin, I promise you. If you really want to be useful, try and find out some quieting draught to keep me from grinding my teeth in my sleep. I shall break them one of these nights, and then become of my beauty, I wonder. 4. From Mrs. Older Shore to Miss Guilt. Lady's toilet repository. Tuesday. My dear Lydia. It is a thousand pities your letter was not addressed to Mr. Armadale. Your graceful audacity would have charmed him. It doesn't affect me. I am so well used to audacity in my way of life, you know. Why waste your sparkling wit, my love, on your own impenetrable Older Shore? It only splutters and goes out. Will you try and be serious this next time? I have news for you from Thorpe Ambrose, which is beyond a joke, and which must not be trifled with. An hour after I got your letter, I set the inquiries on foot. Not knowing what consequences they might lead to, I thought it safest to begin in the dark. Instead of employing any of the people whom I have at my own disposal, who know you and know me, I went to the private inquiry office in Shadyside Place, and put the matter in the inspector's hands, in the character of a perfect stranger, and without mentioning you at all. This was not the cheapest way of going to work I own, but it was the safest way, which is of much greater consequence. The inspector and I understood each other in ten minutes, and the right person for the purpose, the most harmless looking young man you ever saw in your life, was produced immediately. He left for Thorpe Ambrose an hour after I saw him. I arranged to call at the office on the afternoon of Saturday, Monday, and today for news. There was no news till today, and there I found our confidential agent, just returned to town, and waiting to favour me with a full account of his trip to Norfolk. First of all, let me quiet your mind about those two questions of yours. I have got answers to both, the one and the other. The Blanchard women go away to foreign parts on the thirteenth, and young Armadale is at this moment cruising somewhere at sea in his yacht. There is talk at Thorpe Ambrose of giving him a public reception, and of calling a meeting of the local grandees to settle at all. The speechifying and fuss on these occasions generally wastes plenty of time, and the public reception is not thought likely to meet the new squire much before the end of the month. If our messenger had done no more for us than this I think he would have earned his money. But the harmless young man is a regular Jesuit at a private inquiry, with this great advantage over all the Popish priests I have ever seen, that he has not got his slinus written in his face. Having to get his information through the female servants in the usual way, he addressed himself with admirable discretion to the ugliest woman in the house. When they are nice looking and can pick and choose, as he neatly expressed it to me, they waste a great deal of valuable time in deciding on a sweetheart. When they are ugly and haven't the ghost of a chance of choosing, they snap at a sweetheart if he comes their way, like a starved to dog at a bone. Acting on these excellent principles, our confidential agent succeeded after certain unavoidable delays in addressing himself to the upper housemaid at Thorpe Ambrose, and took full possession of her confidence at the first interview. Bearing his instructions carefully in mind, he encouraged the woman to chatter, and was favoured, of course, with all the gossip of the servants' hall. The greater part of it, as repeated to me, was of no earthly importance, but I listened patiently, and was rewarded by a valuable discovery at last. Here it is. It seems there is an ornamental cottage in the grounds at Thorpe Ambrose. For some reason unknown, young Armadale has chosen to let it, and a tenant has come in already. Here's a poor half-pay major in the army named Milroy, a meek sort of man by all accounts, with a turn for occupying himself in a mechanical pursuits, and with a domestic encumbrance in the shape of a bedridden wife. Who has not been seen by anybody? Well, and what of all this, you will ask, with that sparkling impatience which becomes you so well, my dear Lydia, don't sparkle. The man's family affairs seriously concern us both, for as ill luck will have it, the man has a daughter. You may imagine how I questioned our agent, and how our agent ransacked his memory when I stumbled in due course on such a discovery as this. If heaven is responsible for women's chattering tongues, heaven be praised. From Miss Blanchard to Miss Blanchard's maid, from Miss Blanchard's maid to Miss Blanchard's artsmaid, from Miss Blanchard's artsmaid to the ugly housemaid, from the ugly housemaid to the harmless-looking young man, so the stream of gossip trickled into the right reservoir at last, and thirsty mother old ashore has drunk it all up. In plain English, my dear, this is how it stands. The mage's daughter is a minx just turned sixteen, lively and nice-looking, hateful little wretch, dowdy in her dress, thank heaven, and deficient in her manners, thank heaven again. She has been brought up at home, the governess who last had charge of her left before her father moved to Thorpe Ambrose. Her education stands woefully in want of a finishing touch, and the mage doesn't quite know what to do next. None of his friends can recommend him a new governess, and he doesn't like the notion of sending the girl to school, so matters rest at present on the mage's own showing, for so the mage expressed himself at a morning call which the father and daughter paid to the ladies at the great house. You have now got my promised news, and you will have little difficulty, I think, in agreeing with me that the armadale business must be settled at once, one way or the other. If, with your hopeless prospects, and with what I may call your family claim on this young fellow, you decide on giving him up, I shall have the pleasure of sending you the balance of your account with me, seven and twenty shillings, and shall then be free to devote myself entirely to my own proper business. If, on the contrary, you decide to try your luck at Thorpe Ambrose, then, there being no kind of doubt that the mage's mix will set her cap at the young squire, I should be glad to hear how you mean to meet the double difficulty of inflaming Mr. Armadale and extinguishing Ms. Milroy. Affectionately yours, Maria Aldershaw. Five. From Ms. Guilt to Mrs. Aldershaw. First answer. Richmond, Wednesday morning. Mrs. Aldershaw, send me my seven and twenty shillings and devote yourself to your own proper business, yours, LG. Six. From Ms. Guilt to Mrs. Aldershaw. Second answer. Richmond, Wednesday night. Dear old love, keep the seven and twenty shillings and burn my other letter. I have changed my mind. I wrote the first time after a horrible night. I write this time after a ride on horseback, a tumbler of claret, and the breast of a chicken. Is that explanation enough? Please say yes, for I want to go back to my piano. No, I can't go back yet. I must answer your question first. But are you really so very simple as to suppose that I don't see straight through you and your letter? You know that the major's difficulty is our opportunity as well as I do, but you want me to take the responsibility of making the first proposal, don't you? Suppose I take it in your own roundabout way. Suppose I say, pray don't ask me how I propose inflaming Mr. Armadale and extinguishing Ms. Milroy. The question is so shockingly abrupt, I really can't answer it. Ask me instead if it is the modest ambition of my life to become Ms. Milroy's governess. Yes, if you please, Mrs. Aldershaw, and if you will assist me by becoming my reference. There it is for you. If some serious disaster happens, which is quite possible, what a comfort it will be to remember that it was all my fault. Now, I have done this for you. Will you do something for me? I want to dream away the little time I am likely to have left here in my own way. Be a merciful mother, Aldershaw, and spare me the worry of looking at the ins and outs and adding up the chances for and against in this new venture of mine. Think for me, in short, until I am obliged to think for myself. I had better not write any more, or I shall say something savage that you won't like. I am in one of my tempers tonight. I want a husband to vex, or a child to beat, or something of that sort. Do you ever like to see the summer insects kill themselves in the candle? I do, sometimes. Good night, Mrs. Jezebel. The longer you can leave me here, the better. The air agrees with me, and I am looking charming. LG. 7. From Mrs. Aldershaw to Ms. Guilt. Thursday My dear Lydia, some persons in my situation might be a little offended at the tone of your last letter. But I am so fondly attached to you, and when I love a person, it is so very hard, my dear, for that person to offend me. Don't ride quite so far, and only drink half a tumbler full of claret next time, I say no more. Shall we leave off our fencing match and come to serious matters now? How curiously hard it always seems to be for women to understand each other, especially when they have got their pens in their hands. But suppose we try. Well then, to begin with, I gather from your letter that you have wisely decided to try the Thorpe Ambrose experiment, and to secure, if you can, an excellent position, and starting by becoming a member of Major Milroy's household. If the circumstances turn against you and some other woman gets the governess's place, about which I shall have something more to say presently, you will then have no choice but to make Mr Armadale's acquaintance in some other character. In any case, you will want my assistance, and the first question, therefore, to set at rest between us is the question of what I am willing to do, and what I can do to help you. A woman, my dear Lydia, with your appearance, your manners, your abilities, and your education, can make almost any excursions into society that she pleases, if she only has money in her pocket, and a respectable reference to appeal to in cases of emergency. As to the money in the first place, I will engage to find it on condition of your remembering my assistance with adequate pecuniary gratitude, if you win the Armadale Prize. Your promise, so to remember me, embodying the terms in plain figures, shall be drawn out on paper by my own lawyer, so that we can sign and settle at once when I see you in London. Next, as to the reference. Here again my services are at your disposal, on another condition. It is this, that you present yourself at Thorpe Ambrose, under the name to which you have returned, ever since that dreadful business of your marriage. I mean, your own maiden name of Guilt. I have only one motive in insisting on this. I wish to run no needless risks. My experience is, as confidential advisor of my customers in various romantic cases of private embarrassment, has shown me that an assumed name is, nine times out of ten, a very unnecessary and a very dangerous form of deception. Nothing could justify your assuming a name, but the fear of young Armadales detecting you, a fear from which we are fortunately relieved by his mother's own conduct, in keeping your early connection with her a profound secret from her son and from everybody. The next and last perplexity to settle relates, my dear, to the chances for and against your finding your way in the capacity of governess into Major Miroi's house. Once inside the door, with your knowledge of music and languages, if you can keep your temper, you may be sure of keeping the place. The only doubt, as things are now, is whether you can get it. In the Major's present difficulty about his daughter's education, the chances are, I think, in favour of his advertising for governess. Say he does advertise. What address will he give for applicants to write to? If he gives an address in London, goodbye to all chances in your favour at once, for this plain reason, that we shall not be able to pick out his advertisement from the advertisements of other people who want governesses, and who will give them addresses in London as well. If, on the other hand, our luck helps us, and he refers his correspondence to a shop, post office or what not, at Thorpe Ambrose, there we have our advertiser as plainly picked out for us as we can wish. In this last case, I have little or no doubt, with me for your reference, of your finding your way into the Major's family circle. We have one great advantage over the other women who will answer the advertisement. Thanks to my enquiries on the spot, I know Major Milroy to be a poor man, and we will fix the salary, you ask, at a figure that is sure to tempt him. As for the style of the letter, if you and I together can't write a modest and interesting application for the vacant place, I should like to know who can. All this, however, is still in the future, for the present my advice is stay where you are, and dream to your heart's content till you hear from me again. I take in the times regularly, and you may trust my weary eye not to miss the right advertisement. We can luckily give the major time, without doing any injury to our own interests, for there is no fear just yet of the girls getting the start of you. The public reception, as we know, won't be ready till near the end of the month, and we may safely trust young Armadale's vanity to keep him out of his new house, until his flatterers are all assembled to welcome him. It's odd, isn't it, to think how much depends on this half-pay officer's decision. For my part, I shall wake every morning now with the same question in my mind. If the major's advertisement appears, which will the major say, Thorpe Ambrose or London? Ever, my dear Lydia, affectionately was Maria Aldershaw. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Early in the morning, after his first night's rare step Thorpe Ambrose, Alan rose and surveyed the prospect from his bedroom window, lost in the dense mental bewilderment of feeling himself to be a stranger in his own house. The bedroom looked out over the great Frando, with its portico, its terrors and flight of steps beyond, and further still, the broad sweep of the well-timbered park to close the view. The morning mist nestled lightly above the distant trees, and the cows were feeling so close to the iron fence which railed off the park from the drive in front of the house. All mine, thought Alan, staring in blank amazement at the prospect of his own possessions. Hang me if I can beat it into my head yet. All mine. He dressed, left his room, and walked down the corridor which led to the staircase and hall, opening the doors in succession as he passed them. The rooms in this part of the house were bedrooms and dressing rooms, light, spacious, perfectly furnished, and all empty, except the one-bed chamber next to Alan's, which had been appropriated to Midwinter. He was still sleeping when his friend looked in on him, having sat late into the night writing his letter to Mr. Brock. Alan went on to the end of the first corridor, turned at right angles into a second, and that past gained the head of the great staircase. New romance here, he said to himself, looking down the handsomely carpeted stone stairs into the bright modern hall. Nothing to straddle Midwinter's fidgety nerves in this house. There was nothing indeed. Alan's essentially superficial observation had not misled him for once. The mansion of Thor Pambros, built after the pulling down of the dilapidated old manor house, was barely fifty years old. Nothing picturesque, nothing a mislightest degree suggestive of mystery and romance, appeared in any part of it. It was a purely conventional country house. The product of the classical idea filtered judiciously through the commercial English mind. Viewed on the outer side, it presented a spectacle of a modern manufacturing drawing to look like an ancient temple. Viewed on the inner side, it was a marvel of luxurious comfort in every part of it, from basement to roof. And quite right too, thought Alan, sauntering contently down the broad, gently graduated stairs. Do you stake all mystery and romance? Let's be clean and comfortable, that's what I say. Arrived in the hall, the new master of Thor Pambros hesitated, and looked about him, uncertain which way to turn next. The four reception rooms on the ground floor opened into the hall to on either side. Alan tried the nearest door on his right hand at a venture, and found himself in the drawing room. Here the first sign of life appeared, under life's most attractive form. A young girl was in solitary possession of the drawing room. The duster in her hand appeared to associate her with the domestic duties of the house. But at that particular moment, she was occupying and asserting the rights of nature over the obligations of service. In other words, she was attentively contemplating her own face in a glass over the mantelpiece. There, there, don't let me frighten you, said Alan, as the girl started away from the glass and stared at him in unutterable confusion. I quite agree with you, my dear, your face is well worth looking at. Who are you? Oh, the housemaid. And what's your name? Susan. Come, I like your name to begin with. Do you know who I am, Susan? I'm your master, though you may not think it. Your character? Oh yes, Mrs Blanchard gave you a capital character. You shall stop here, don't be afraid. And you'll be a good girl, Susan, and wear smart little caps and aprons and bright ribbons. And you'll look nice and pretty, and that's the furniture, won't you? With the summary of the housemaid's duties, Alan sauntered back into the hall and found more signs of life in that quarter. A man servant appeared on this occasion and bowed, as became a vessel in a linen jacket, before his leash-lod in a wide awake hat. And who may you be, asked Alan, not the man who let us in last night? Ah, I thought not. The second footman, eh? Character? Oh yes, capital character. Stop here, of course. You can valid me, can you? What a validing me. I like to put on my own clothes and brush them too, when they are on. And, if I only knew how to black my own boots, by George, I should like to do it. What room's this? Morning room, eh? And here's the dining room, of course. Good heavens, what a table. It's as long as my hatch, and longer. I say, by the way, what's your name? Richard, is it? Well, Richard, the vessel I sail in is a vessel of my own building. What do you think of that? You look to me just the right sort of man to be my steward on board, if you are not sick at sea. Oh, you are sick at sea? Well, then we'll say nothing more about it. And, what room is this? Ah, yes, the library, of course. More in Mr. Midwinter's way than mine. Mr. Midwinter is the gentleman who came here with me last night. And, mind us, Richard, you are all to show him as much attention as you show me. Where are we now? What's this door at the back? We're in a room and smoking room, eh? Join me in another door, and more stairs. Where do they go to? And, who's this coming up? Take your time, man, you're not quite so young as you were once. Take your time. The object of Allen's humane caution was a corpulent elderly lady of the type called Motherly. Fourteen stairs were all that separated her from the master of the house. She ascended then with fourteen stoppages and fourteen sighs. Nature, various in all things, is infinitely various in a female sex. There are some women whose personal qualities reveal the lapses and the graces, and there are the women whose personal qualities suggest the perquisites and the greyspot. This was one of the other women. Glad to see you're looking so well, man, said Allen, when the cook in the magistre of her office stood proclaimed before him. Your name is Grippa, is it? I consider you Mrs. Grippa the most valuable person in the house. For this reason that nobody in the house eats a heartier dinner every day, then I do. Directions? Oh no, I have no directions to give. I leave all that to you. Plots of strong soup and joints done with the gravy in them. That's my notion of good feeding, in two words. Steady, here's somebody else. Oh, to be sure, the butler. Another valuable person. Will go right through all the wine in the cellar, Mr. Butler, and if I can't give you a sound opinion after that, will pours over boldly and go right through it again. Talking of wine? Hello, here are more of them coming upstairs. They're there, don't trouble yourselves. You have all got capital characters, and you shall all stop here along with me. What was I saying, just now? Something about wine, so it was. I'll tell you what, Mr. Butler, it isn't every day that a new master comes in. I'll tell you what, Mr. Butler, I'll tell you what, Mr. Butler, I'll tell you what, Mr. Butler, it's every day that a new master comes to Thorepombros, and it's my wish that we should all start together on the best possible terms. Let the servants have a grand jollification downstairs to celebrate my arrival, and give them what they like to drink my health in. It's a poor hat, Mrs. Grupper, that never rejoices, isn't it? No, I won't look at the cellar now. I want to go out and get a breath of fresh air before breakfast. Where's Richard? I say, have I got a garden here? Which side of the house is it? That side, eh? You needn't show me around. I'll go alone, Richard, and lose myself if I can in my own property. With those words, Alan descended the terrorist steps in front of the house, he had met the serious responsibility of settling his domestic establishment to his own entire satisfaction. People talk of the difficulty of managing their servants, thought Alan. What on earth do they mean? I don't see any difficulty at all. He opened an ornamental gate leading out of the drive at the side of the house, and following the footman's directions entered the shrubbery that sheltered the Topambrew's gardens. Nice, shady sort of place for a cigar, said Alan, and so entered along with his hands in his pockets. I wish I could beat it into my head that it really belongs to me. The shrubbery opened on the broad expanse of a flower garden, flooded bright in its summer glory by the light of the morning sun. On one side, an archway broken through a wall led into the fruit garden. On the other, a terrace of turf led to ground on a lower level, laid down as an Italian garden. One year passed, the fountains and statues Alan reached another shrubbery, winding its way apparently to some remote part of the grounds. Thus far, not a human creature had been visible or audible anywhere, but as he approached the end of the second shrubbery, it struck him that he had something on the other side of the foliage. He stopped and listened. There were two voices speaking distinctly. An old voice that sounded very obstinate, and a young voice that sounded very angry. It's no use, miss, said the old voice. I mustn't allow it and I won't allow it. What would Mr. Armadale say? If Mr. Armadale is a gentleman I take him for you old brood, replied the young voice. He would say, come into my garden, miss Milroy, as often as you like and take as many noses as you please. Alan's bright blue eyes twinkled mischievously. Inspired by a sudden idea he stole softly to the end of the shrubbery darted round the corner of it and vaulting over a low-wing fence found himself in a trim little paddock crossed by a gravel walk. At a short distance down the world stood a young lady with her back toward him trying to force her way past an impenetrable old man with a rake in his hand who stood obstinately in front of her shaking his head. Come into my garden, miss Milroy, as often as you like and take as many noses as you please. cried Alan remorselessly repeating her own words. A young lady turned round with a screen. Her muslin dress which she was holding up in front dropped from her hand and a prodigious slap full of flowers rolled out on the gravel walk. Before another word could be said the impenetrable old man stepped forward with the utmost composure and entered in the question of his own personal interests as if nothing whatever had happened and nobody was present but his new master in himself. I bid you humbly welcome to Thope Ambrosa said this ancient of the gardens. My name is Abraham Sage I have been employed in the grants for more than 40 years and I hope you'll be pleased to continue me in my place. So with the vision inexorably limited to the horizon of his own prospect spoke the gardener and spoke in vain. Alan was down on his knees on the gravel walk collecting the fallen flowers and forming his first impressions of Miss Melroy from the feet upward. She was pretty she was not pretty she churned she disappointed she churned again. Tried by recognized line and rule she was too short and too well developed for her age and yet her hand's eyes could have wished her figure other than it was. Her hands were so prettily plump and dimpled that it was hard to see how red they were with the blessed exuberance of youth and health. Her feet apologized gracefully for her old and ill-fitting shoes and her shoulders made ample immense for the misterminer in muslin which covered them with her dress. Her dark grey eyes were lovely in their clear softness of color in their spirit tenderness and sweet good humor of expression and her hair where a shabby old garden hat allowed her to be seen was of just that lighter shade of brown which gave value by contrast to the darker beauty of her eyes. But these attractions passed the little attendant blemishes and imperfections of this self-contradictory girl began again. Her nose was too short her mouth was too large her face was too round and too rosy. The dreadful justice of photography would have had no mercy on her and the sculptures of classical grace would have bowed her regretfuly out of their studios. Admitting all this and more, the girdle round Miss Milroy's waist was the girdle of Venus nevertheless and the passkey that opens the general heart was the key she carried if ever a girl possessed it yet. Before Alan had picked up a second handful of flowers Alan was in love with her. Don't pre-don't Mr. Amadele she said leaving the flowers under protest as Alan vigorously showered them back into the lap of her dress. I'm so ashamed I didn't mean to invite myself in that bold way into your garden. My tongue ran away with me it did indeed. What can I say to excuse myself oh Mr. Amadele what must you think of me Alan suddenly saw his way to a compliment up to her four-width with the third handful of flowers. I can tell you what I think Miss Milroy he said in his blunt boyish way. I think the luckiest walk I ever took in my life was the walk this morning that brought me here. He looked eager and handsome he was not addressing a woman worn out with admiration but a girl just beginning a woman's life but it did him no harm at any rate to speak in the character of Master of the Palm Bros. The penitential expression on Miss Milroy's face gently melted away she looked down demure and smiling at the flowers in her lap I deserve a good scolding she said I don't deserve compliments Mr. Amadele please to fall from you oh yes you do Alan getting briskly on his legs besides it isn't a compliment it's true you're the prettiest I beg your pardon Miss Milroy my tongue ran away with me that time among the heavy burdens that are late on female human nature perhaps the heaviest at the age of 16 is the burden of gravity Miss Milroy struggled deterred struggled again and composed herself for the time being the gardener who still stood where he had stood from the first immovably waiting for his next opportunity saw it now and gently pushed his personal interests into the first gap of silence that had opened within his reach since Alan's appearance on the scene I humbly bid you welcome to Thorpam Bros. said Abraham Sage beginning obstinately with his little introductory speech for the second time my name before he could deliver himself of his name Miss Milroy looked accidentally in the horticulturist's pertinacious face and instantly lost her hold on her gravity beyond recall Alan never backward in following a boisterous example of any sort joined in her laughter with right goodwill the wise man of the gardens showed no surprise and took no offense he waited for another gap of silence and walked in again gently with his personal interests the moment the two young people start to take breath I have been employed in the grounds proceeded Abraham Sage irrepressibly for more than 40 years you shall be employed in the grounds to be more if you'll only hold your tongue and take yourself off cried Alan as soon as he could speak thank you kindly sir said the gardener with utmost politeness but with no present signs either of holding his tongue or of taking himself off well said Alan Abraham Sage carefully cleared his throat and shifted his rake hand to the other he looked down the length of his own invaluable implement with a grave interest and attention seen apparently not the long handle of a rake but the long perspective of a lister with a supplementary personal interest established at the end of it when more convenient sir resumed this immovable man I should wish respectfully to you about my son perhaps it may be more convenient in the course of the day my humble duty sir and my best thanks my son is strictly sober he is accustomed to the stables and he belongs to the church of England without incumbrances having thus planted his offspring provisionally in his master's estimation Abraham Sage shouldered his invaluable rake and hobbled slowly out of view if that's a specimen of a trustworthy old servant said Alan I think I'd rather take my chance of being cheated by a new one you shall not be troubled with him again this mill roy at any rate all the flower beds in the garden are at your disposal and all the fruit in the fruit season if you'll only come here and eat it oh Mr. Armadale how very, very kind you are how can I thank you Alan saw his way to another compliment an elaborate compliment in the shape of a trap this time you can do me the greatest possible favor he said you can assist me in forming an agreeable impression of my own grounds dear me how Mr. Roy nesently Alan judiciously closed the trap on the spot in these words while taking me with you Mr. Roy on your morning walk he spoke smiled and offered his arm she saw the way on her side to a little flirtation she rested her hand on his arm blushed, hesitated and suddenly took it away again I don't think it's quite right Mr. Armadale she said devoting herself with the deepest attention to her collection of flowers ought not we to have some old lady here isn't it improper to take your arm until I know you a little better than I do now I'm obliged to ask I have had so little instruction I have seen so little of society and one of papa's friends once said my manners were too bold for my age what do you think I think it's a very good thing your papa's friend is not here now answered doubt spoken Alan I should quarrel with him to a dead certainty as for society Mr. Roy nobody knows less about it than I do what if we had an old lady here I must see myself I think she would be uncommonly in the way won't you concluded Alan impureingly offering his arm for the second time do Ms. May Roy looked up at him side long from her flowers your arms bad as the gardener Mr. Armadale she looked down again in a flutter of indecision I'm sure it's wrong she said and took his arm the instant afterward without the hesitation they moved away together over the daisy turf of the paddock young and bright and happy with the sunlight of the summer morning shining cloudless over their flowery path and where are we going to now asked Alan into another garden she laughed gaily how very odd of you Mr. Armadale not to know when it all belongs to you are you really seeing Rose this morning for the first time how indescribably strange it must feel no no don't say any more complimentary things to me just yet you may turn my head if you do we haven't got the old lady with us and I really must take care of myself let me be useful let me tell you all about your own grounds we are going out at that little gate across one of the drives in the park then over the rustic bridge and then around the corner of the plantation where do you think to where I live Mr. Armadale to the lovely little cottage that you have led to papa or if you only knew how lucky we thought ourselves to get it she paused looked up at her companion and stopped another compliment Alan slips I'll drop your arm she said courtishly if you do we were lucky to get the cottage Mr. Armadale Papa said he felt under an obligation to you for letting it the day we got in and I said I felt under an obligation no longer than last week you miss Milroy exclaimed Alan yes it may surprise you to hear it but if you hadn't let the cottage to papa I believe I should have suffered the indignity and misery of being sent to school Alan's memory reverted to the half crown that he had spun on the cabin table of the arch at Castletown if she only knew that I had tossed up for it he thought guiltily I dare say you don't understand why I should feel such a horror of going to school pursued Miss Milroy misinterpreting the momentary silence on her companion's side if I had gone to school in early life I mean at the age when other girls go I shouldn't have minded it now but I had no such chance at the time it was the time of mama's illness and of papa's unfortunate speculation and as papa had nobody to comfort him but me of course I stayed at home you needn't laugh I was of some use I can tell you I helped papa over his trouble by sitting on his knee after dinner and asking him to tell me stories of all the remarkable people he had known when he was about in the great world at home and abroad without me to lose him in the evening and his clock to occupy him day time his clock repeated Alan oh yes I ought to have told you papa is an extraordinary mechanical genius you will say so too then you see his clock it's nothing like so large of course but it's on the model of the famous clock at Strasburg only thing he began it when I was 8 years old and though I was 16 last birthday it isn't finished yet some of our friends were quite surprised he should take to such a thing when his troubles began but papa himself said that right in no time he reminded them that Louis the 16th took to lock making when his troubles began and then everybody was perfectly satisfied she stopped and changed color confusedly oh Mr. Mildale she said in genuine embarrassment this time here is my unlucky tongue running away with me again I'm talking to you already as if I had known you for years this is what papa's friend meant when he said my manners were too bold it's quite true I have a dreadful way of getting familiar with people if she checked herself suddenly on the brink of ending the sentence by saying if I like them no no do go on pleaded Alan it's a fault of mine to be familiar too besides we must be familiar we are such near neighbors I'm rather an uncultivated sort of fellow and I don't know quite how to say it but I want your cottage to be jolly and friendly with my house and my house to be jolly and friendly with your cottage there's my meaning all in the wrong words do go on Ms. Milroy pray go on she smiled and hesitated I don't exactly remember where I was she replied I only remember I had something I wanted to tell you this comes Mr. Amidale of my taking your arm I should get on so much better if you would only consent to walk separately you won't well then will you tell me what it was I wanted to say where was I before I went wandering off to Papa's troubles and Papa's clock at school replied Alan with a prodigious effort of memory not at school you mean said Ms. Milroy and all through you now I can go on again which is a great comfort I'm quite serious Mr. Amidale in saying that I should have been sent to school when Papa proposed for the cottage this is how it happened when we began moving in Mrs. Blanchard sent us a most kind message from the great house to say that her servants were at our disposal if we wanted any assistance the least Papa and I could do after that was to call and thank her we saw Mrs. Blanchard and Ms. Blanchard Mistress was charming and Ms. looked perfectly lovely in her mourning I'm sure you admire her she is tall and pale and graceful quite your idea of beauty I should think nothing like it began Alan my idea of beauty at the present moment Ms. Milroy felt it coming and instantly took her hand off his arm I mean I have never seen either Mrs. Blanchard or her niece added Alan precipitately correcting himself Ms. Milroy tempered justice with mercy and put her hand back again how extraordinary that you should never have seen them she went on why you're a perfect stranger to everything and everybody at the bamboos well after Ms. Blanchard and I had sat and talked a little while and heard my name on Mrs. Blanchard lips and instantly held my breath she was asking Papa if I had finished my education out came Papa's great grievance directly my old governess you must know left us to be married just before we came here and none of our friends could produce a new one whose terms were reasonable I'm told Mrs. Blanchard by people who understand it better than I do says Papa that advertising is a risk it all falls on me in Mrs. Milroy's state of health and I suppose I must end in sending my little girl to school do you happen to know of a school within the means of a poor man Mrs. Blanchard shook her head and I could have kissed her on the spot for doing it all my experience Major Milroy says this perfect angel of a woman is in favour of advertising my niece's governess was originally obtained by an advertisement and you may imagine her value to us when I tell you she lived in a family for more than 10 years I could have gone down on both my niece and worshipped Mrs. Blanchard then and there and I only wonder I didn't Papa was struck at the time I could see that and he referred to it again on the way home though I have been long out of the world my dear says Papa I know a highly bred woman and a sensible woman when I see her Mrs. Blanchard's experience puts advertising in a new light I must think about it he has thought about it and though he hasn't openly confessed it to me I know that he decided to advertise no later than last night so if Papa thanks you for letting the cottage Mr. Amadele I thank you too but for you they should never have known darling Mrs. Blanchard and but for darling Mrs. Blanchard I should have been sent to school before Alan could reply they turned the corner of the plantation and came inside of the cottage description of it is needless the civilized universe knows it already it was the typical cottage of the drawing masters early lessons in need-sharing and the broad pencil touch with the trim-touch luxuriant creepers the modest lattice windows the rustic porch and the wicker bird cage all complete isn't it lovely said Mrs. Melroy do come in may I ask Alan won't the major think it too early? early or late your Papa will be only too glad to see you she led the way briskly up the garden path and opened the parlor door as Alan followed her into the little room he saw at the further end of it a gentleman sitting alone at an old-fashioned writing table with his back turned to his visitor Papa's surprise for you said Mrs. Melroy rousing him from his occupation and the tale has come to the palm rose and I have brought him here to see you the major started rose bewildered for the moment recovered himself immediately and advanced to welcome his young landlord with hospitable outstretched hand a man with a larger experience of the world and a finer observation of humanity than Alan possessed would have seen the story of major Melroy's life written in major Melroy's face the home troubles that had struck him were plainly betrayed in his stooping figure and his van deeply wrinkled cheeks when he first showed himself on rising from his chair the changeless influence of one monotonous pursuit and one monotonous habit of thought were next expressed in the dull dreamy self-absorption of his manner and his look while his daughter was speaking to him the moment after when he had roused himself to welcome his guest was the moment which made the self-revelation complete then there flickered in the major's weary eyes a faint reflection of the spirit of his happier youth then there passed over the major's dull and dreamy manner a change which told unmistakably of social graces and accomplishments learned at some past time in no ignoble social school a man who had long since taken his patient refuge from trouble in his own mechanical pursuit a man only roused at intervals to know himself again for what he once had been so revealed to all eyes that could read him right major Melroy now stood before Alan on the first morning of phoenix quaintance which was destined to be an event in Alan's life I'm heartily glad to see you Mr. Amadele he said speaking in the changeless quiet subdued tone peculiar to most men whose occupations are of the solitary and monotonous kind you have done me one favor already by taking me as your tenant and you now do me another being this friendly visit if you have not breakfasted already let me wave all ceremony on my side and ask you to take your place at our little table with the greatest pleasure major Melroy if I'm not in the way replied Alan delighted at his reception I was sorry to hear from this Melroy that Mrs. Melroy is an invalid perhaps my being here unexpectedly perhaps the sight of a strange face I understand your hesitation Mr. Amadele said the major but it's quite unnecessary Mrs. Melroy's illness keeps her entirely confined to her own room have you got everything we want on the table my love he went on changing the subject so abruptly that a closer observer than Alan might have suspected it was distasteful to him will you come and make tea Mrs. Melroy's attention appear to be already pre-engaged she made no reply while her father and Alan had been exchanging civilities she had been putting the writing table in order and examining the various objects scattered on it with the unrestrained curiosity of a spoiled child the moment after the major had spoken to her she discovered a morsel of paper hidden between the leaves of the blotting book snatched it up, looked at it and turned around instantly with an exclamation of surprise do my eyes decease me perhaps she asked or were you really and truly writing the advertisement when I came in I had just finished it replied her father but my dear Mr. Amadele is here we are waiting for breakfast Mr. Amadele knows all about it I told him in the garden oh yes said Alan pray don't make a stranger of me major if it's about the gardeners I've got something in an indirect sort of way to do with it too major Melroy smiled before he could answer his daughter who had been reading the advertisement appealed to him eagerly for the second time oh papa she said there's one thing here I don't like it all why do you put grandmama's initials at the end why do you tell them to write a grandmama's house in London my dear your mother can do nothing in this matter as you know and as for me even if I went to London questioning strange ladies about their characters and accomplishments is the last thing in the world that I'm fit to do your grandmama is on the spot and your grandmama is the proper person to receive the letters and to make all the necessary inquiries but I want to see the letters myself persisted the spoiled child some of them are sure to be amusing I don't apologise for this very unceremonious reception of you Mr. Amadele said the major turning to Alan with a quaint and quite humour it may be useful as a warning if you ever chance to marry and have a daughter not to begin as a half done by letting her have her own way Alan laughed and Miss Melroy persisted besides she went on I should like to help in choosing which letters we answer and which we don't I think I ought to have some voice in the selection of my own governess why not tell them papa to send their letters down here to the post office or the stationers or anywhere you like when you and I have read them we can send out the letters we prefer to grandmama and she can ask all the questions and pick out the best governess just as you have arranged already without leaving me entirely in the dark which I consider don't you Mr. Amadele to be quite inhuman let me alter the address papa do there's a darling we shall get no breakfast Mr. Amadele if I don't say yes set the major good humour glee do as you like my dear he added turning to his daughter as long as it ends in your grandmamas managing the matter for us the rest is of very little consequence Miss Melroy took up her father's pen drew it through the last line of the advertisement and wrote the altered address with her own hand as follows apply my letter to M post office there she said bustling to her place at the breakfast table the advertisement may go to London now and if a governess does come of it oh papa who in the name of wonder will she be dear coffee Mr. Amadele I am ashamed of having kept you waiting but it is such a comfort she added saucily to get all one's business of one's mind before breakfast father daughter and guest sat down together sociably at the little round table the best of good neighbours and good friends already three days later one of the London news boys got his business of his mind before breakfast his district was Diner Street and the last of the morning's newspapers which he disposed of was the newspaper he left at mrs. Oldishaw's door end of book the second chapter 2