Уильям Коллинз - The Woman in White / Женщина в белом

“Yesterday. It was just where a ghost ought to be – in the churchyard. Near the grave with the tall white cross,” replied Jacob.

“Oh! you saw it yesterday evening, in the twilight? And what was it like?”

“All in white – as a ghost should be,” answered the ghost-seer, with a confidence beyond his years.

Marian turned pale and looked me eagerly in the face.

“The woman in white!” she said. “And the grave with the tall white cross is my mother’s grave. What does she want with that? I go at once to the churchyard. Perhaps we can learn something more there.”

As soon as we were alone again, Miss Halcombe asked me if I had formed any opinion on what I had heard.

“A very strong opinion,” I answered; “the boy’s story, as I believe, has a foundation in fact.”

“You shall see the grave.”

“Miss Halcombe, what has happened in the schoolroom encourages me to continue the investigation.”

“Why does it encourage you?”

“Miss Halcombe, I believe, at this moment, that the fancied ghost in the churchyard, and the writer of the anonymous letter, are one and the same person. [40] one and the same person – один и тот же человек ”

She stopped, turned pale, and looked me eagerly in the face.

“What person?”

“The schoolmaster unconsciously told you. [41] unconsciously told you – сам того не зная, сказал вам When he spoke of the figure that the boy saw in the churchyard he called it ‘a woman in white.’”

“Not Anne Catherick?”

“Yes, Anne Catherick.”

She put her hand through my arm and leaned on it heavily.

“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “I will show you the grave, and then go back at once to the house. I had better not leave Laura too long alone. I had better go back and sit with her.”

We were close to the churchyard when she spoke. The church was a small building of grey stone, and was situated in a peaceful valley. The graves lay behind the church and rose a little way up the hillside.

There was a low stone wall all around the graves, and in one corner of the churchyard there was a group of trees, and among them was a tall white marble cross. Marian pointed to it.

“That cross marks my mother’s grave, I need go no farther with you,” said Miss Halcombe, pointing to the grave. “You will let me know if you find anything to confirm the idea you have just mentioned to me. Let us meet again at the house.”

She left me. I descended at once to the churchyard, and crossed the stile which led directly to Mrs. Fairlie’s grave. I looked attentively at the cross, and at the square block of marble below it, on which the inscription was cut. Then I noticed something strange. One half of the cross and the stone beneath had been marked and made dirty by the weather. But the other half was bright and clear as if somebody had cleaned the marble very recently. I looked closer, and saw that it had been cleaned – recently cleaned, in a downward direction from top to bottom.

The sun was beginning to go down and a cold wind started to blow. Dark storm clouds were moving quickly. In the far distance I could hear the noise of the sea. What a wild and lonely place this was.

Who had begun the cleansing of the marble, and who had left it unfinished? I found a hiding place among the trees and began to wait. I waited for about half an hour. The sun had just set when suddenly I saw a figure enter the churchyard and approach the grave hurriedly.

The figure was that of a woman. She was wearing a long coat of a dark-blue colour, but I could see a bit of the dress she wore underneath her coat. My heart began to beat fast as I noticed the colour – white.

The woman approached the grave and stood looking at it for a long time. Then she kissed the cross and took out a cloth from under her coat. She wet the cloth in the stream and started to clean the marble.

She was so busy with what she was doing that she didn’t hear me approach her. When I was within a few feet of her, I stopped.

She could sense that someone was behind her and stopped cleaning the marble, turning round slowly. When she saw me, she gave a faint cry of terror.

“Don’t be frightened,” I said. “Surely you remember me?”

I stopped while I spoke – then advanced a few steps gently – then stopped again – and so approached by little and little till I was close to her.

“You remember me?” I said. “We met very late, and I helped you to find the way to London. Surely you have not forgotten that?”

“You are very kind to me,” she murmured.

“I acted as your friend then, and I want to be your friend now. Please don’t be afraid.”

She stopped. She continued to look at me with a face full of fear. There was no doubt that it was the same strange woman – the woman I had met once.

“How did you come here?” she asked.

“Do you remember me telling you that I was going to Cumberland? Well, since we last met, I have been staying all the time at Limmeridge House.”

The woman’s sad pale face brightened for a moment.

“At Limmeridge House! Ah, how happy you must be there,” she said.

I looked at her. She smiled and I saw again the extraordinary likeness between her and Laura Fairlie. I had seen Anne Catherick’s likeness in Miss Fairlie. I now saw Miss Fairlie’s likeness in Anne Catherick. The great difference was that Laura’s face was full of joy and happiness, while this woman’s face was sad and frightened. What could it mean?

Anne Catherick’s hand laid on my shoulder.

“You are looking at me, and you are thinking of something,” she said. “What is it?”

“Nothing extraordinary,” I answered. “I was only wondering how you came here.”

“I came with a friend who is very good to me. I have only been here two days. Her tomb must be as white as snow. Is there anything wrong in that? I hope not. Surely nothing can be wrong that I do for Mrs. Fairlie’s sake?”

She was watching me.

“My name is Anne Catherick,” she said. “And I’ve come here to be close to my dear friend’s grave. Nobody looks after it – see how dirty it is. I must clean it.”

She picked up her cloth and started cleaning the marble.

“Are you staying in the village?” I asked her.

“No, no, not in the village,” she replied, “at a farm about three miles away. “Three miles away at a farm. Do you know the farm? They call it Todd’s Corner. [42] Todd’s Corner – ферма Тодда ”

I remembered the place perfectly – it was one of the oldest farms in the neighbourhood, situated in a solitary, sheltered spot.

“The people there are good and kind, and an elderly woman looks after me well.”

“And where have you come from?” I went on.

“I escaped,” she said. “I’ve run away and I’m not going back.”

I remember that she escapes from an Asylum – a place where mad people are kept.

“You don’t think I should go back there, do you?” she said, looking at me worriedly. “I’m not mad and I’ve done nothing wrong. I was shut up in the Asylum by a man who is very cruel.”

“Certainly not. I am glad you escaped from it – I am glad I helped you.”

“Yes, yes, you did help me indeed,” she went on. “It was easy to escape. They never suspected me as they suspected the others. I was so quiet, and so obedient, and so easily frightened. You helped me. Did I thank you at the time? I thank you now very kindly.”

“Had you no father or mother to take care of you?”

“Father? – I never saw him – I never heard mother speak of him. Father? Ah, dear! he is dead, I suppose.”

“And your mother?”