Уильям Коллинз - The Woman in White / Женщина в белом

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marian took my hands and pressed them in her own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At that moment I knew that Laura loved me too.

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

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

The End of Hartright’s Narrative.

I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright. Mr. Hartright decided to present the story to others, in the most truthful and most vivid manner.

I was present during the living of Sir Percival Glyde in Cumberland, and was personally concerned in one important result of his short residence under Mr. Fairlie’s roof. It is my duty, therefore, to add these new links to the chain of events.

I arrived at Limmeridge House on Friday the second of November.

My object was to remain at Mr. Fairlie’s until the arrival of Sir Percival Glyde. But Mr. Fairlie had been, or had fancied himself to be, an invalid for years past, and he was not well enough to receive me.

I did not see Miss Fairlie until later in the day, at dinner-time. She was not looking well, and I was sorry to observe it. She is a sweet lovable girl, amiable and attentive to everyone.

Miss Halcombe was the first member of the family whom I saw. She met me at the house door, and introduced me to Mr. Hartright, who had been staying at Limmeridge for some time past. Mr. Walter Hartright, the art teacher, seemed a very pleasant young man. I was informed that Mr. Hartright was leaving the next day. Marian also told me about the business of the letter which Laura had received, and how helpful Mr. Hartright had been to her about that. I told them that I would send a copy of the letter to Sir Percival.

On Saturday Mr. Hartright had left before I got down to breakfast. I took a walk by myself in the afternoon, and looked about at some of the places.

I’ve been a lawyer to the Fairlie family for many years. I knew Laura’s father, Mr. Philip Fairlie, very well, and I’ve known Marian and Laura since they were children. I’m very fond of them both, and I was most anxious to make a good marriage settlement for Laura. Laura, I’m sorry to say, didn’t look well – not like her usual happy self at all. She played the piano to us that evening, but she made a lot of mistakes.

At two o’clock Mr. Fairlie sent to say he was well enough to see me. He had not altered since I first knew him. His talk was to the same purpose as usual – all about himself and his ailments, his wonderful coins, and his Rembrandt etchings.

The moment I tried to speak of the business that had brought me to his house, he shut his eyes and said I “upset” him.

The rest of the weekend passed quietly and on Monday Sir Percival Glyde arrived. I found him to be a most charming and friendly man, so far as manners and appearance were concerned. He looked rather older than I had expected. I have seldom met such a charming and friendly man. When we were introduced, I found his manner so easy and pleasant that straight away we got on together like old friends.

However I was surprised to see that Laura didn’t seem very happy to see him. After his arrival, she left the room as soon as she could politely do so, leaving Marian and I to speak with Sir Percival.

Miss Fairlie was constrained and uneasy in his presence. Sir Percival neither noticed the restraint in her reception of him, nor her sudden withdrawing from our society.

As soon as the door had closed behind Laura, Sir Percival brought up the business of the letter. He had received the copy which I had sent him and, as I had expected, he had a very satisfactory explanation. He had stopped in London on his way from Hampshire, had read the documents forwarded by me, and had travelled on to Cumberland, anxious to satisfy our minds by the speediest and the fullest explanation that words could convey. I offered him the original letter, which I had kept for his inspection. He thanked me, and declined to look at it, saying that he had seen the copy, and that he was quite willing to leave the original in our hands.

He told us that several years ago he had had a servant called Mrs. Catherick who was excellent in every way and had provided him with loyal and faithful service through difficult times. She had been doubly unfortunate in being married to a husband who had deserted her, and in having an only child whose mental faculties had been in a disturbed condition from a very early age. Her daughter’s name was Anne. Yes, unfortunately there was something wrong with her mind – so that she didn’t behave like a normal person. These problems got so bad that in the end her mother could no longer look after her at home.

Sir Percival offered to help by finding and placing Anne in an excellent Asylum where people would be kind to her and where she would be well looked after. It was expensive to keep Anne in the Asylum, but because of Mrs. Catherick’s loyal service to him, he offered to pay the money.