The arrangement proposed was so unquestionably the right and the proper one, that I could make no possible objection to it. Much as I sympathised with Lady Glyde in other respects, I could not sympathise with her in her unjust prejudices against Count Fosco. I never before met with any lady of her rank and station who was so lamentably narrow-minded on the subject of foreigners. Neither her uncle's note nor Sir Percival's increasing impatience seemed to have the least effect on her. She still objected to staying a night in London, she still implored her husband not to write to the Count.
‘Drop it!' said Sir Percival, rudely turning his back on us. ‘If you haven't sense enough to know what is best for yourself other people must know for you. The arrangement is made, and there is an end of it. You are only wanted to do what Miss Halcombe has done before you --'
‘Marian?' repeated her ladyship, in a bewildered manner; ‘Marian sleeping in Count Fosco's house!'
‘Yes, in Count Fosco's house. She slept there last night to break the journey, and you are to follow her example, and do what your uncle tells you. You are to sleep at Fosco's tomorrow night, as your sister did, to break the journey. Don't throw too many obstacles in my way! don't make me repent of letting you go at all!'
He started to his feet, and suddenly walked out into the verandah through the open glass doors.
‘Will your ladyship excuse me,' I whispered, ‘if I suggest that we had better not wait here till Sir Percival comes back? I am very much afraid he is over-excited with wine.'
She consented to leave the room in a weary, absent manner.
As soon as we were safe upstairs again, I did all I could to compose her ladyship's spirits. I reminded her that Mr Fairlie's letters to Miss Halcombe and to herself did certainly sanction, and even render necessary, sooner or later, the course that had been taken. She agreed to this, and even admitted, of her own accord, that both letters were strictly in character with her uncle's peculiar disposition -- but her fears about Miss Halcombe, and her unaccountable dread of sleeping at the Count's house in London, still remained unshaken in spite of every consideration that I could urge.
I thought it my duty to protest against Lady Glyde's unfavourable opinion of his lordship, and I did so, with becoming forbearance and respect.
‘Your ladyship will pardon my freedom,' I remarked, in conclusion, ‘but it is said, ‘‘by their fruits ye shall know them.'' I am sure the Count's constant kindness and constant attention, from the very beginning of Miss Halcombe's illness, merit our best confidence and esteem. Even his lordship's serious misunderstanding with Mr Dawson was entirely attributable to his anxiety on Miss Halcombe's account.'
‘What misunderstanding?' inquired her ladyship, with a look of sudden interest.
I related the unhappy circumstances under which Mr Dawson had withdrawn his attendance -- mentioning them all the more readily because I disapproved of Sir Percival's continuing to conceal what had happened (as he had done in my presence) from the knowledge of Lady Glyde.
Her ladyship started up, with every appearance of being additionally agitated and alarmed by what I had told her.
‘Worse! worse than I thought!' she said, walking about the room, in a bewildered manner. ‘The Count knew Mr Dawson would never consent to Marian's taking a journey -- he purposely insulted the doctor to get him out of the house.'
‘Oh, my lady! my lady!' I remonstrated.
‘Mrs Michelson!' she went on vehemently, ‘no words that ever were spoken will persuade me that my sister is in that man's power and in that man's house with her own consent- My horror of him is such, that nothing Sir Percival could say, and no letters my uncle could write, would induce me, if I had only my own feelings to consult, to eat, drink, or sleep under his roof. But my misery of suspense about Marian gives me the courage to follow her anywhere, to follow her even into Count Fosco's house.'
I thought it right, at this point, to mention that Miss Halcombe had already gone on to Cumberland, according to Sir Percival's account of the matter.
‘I am afraid to believe it!' answered her ladyship. ‘I am afraid she is still in that man's house. If I am wrong, if she has really gone to Limmeridge I am resolved I will not sleep tomorrow night under Count Fosco's roof. My dearest friend in the world, next to my sister, lives near London.
You have heard me, you have heard Miss Halcombe, speak of Mrs Vesey? I mean to write, and propose to sleep at her house. I don't know how I shall get there -- I don't know how I shall avoid the Count -- but to that refuge I will escape in some way, if my sister has gone to Cumberland. All I ask of you to do, is to see yourself that my letter to Mrs Vesey goes to London tonight, as certainly as Sir Percival's letter goes to Count Fosco. I have reasons for not trusting the post-bag downstairs. Will you keep my secret, and help me in this? it is the last favour, perhaps, that I shall ever ask of you.'
I hesitated, I thought it all very strange, I almost feared that her ladyship's mind had been a little affected by recent anxiety and suffering.
At my own risk, however, I ended by giving my consent. If the letter had been addressed to a stranger, or to any one but a lady so well known to me by report as Mrs Vesey, I might have refused. I thank God -- looking to what happened afterwards -- I thank God I never thwarted that wish, or any other, which Lady Glyde expressed to me, on the last day of her residence at Blackwater Park.
The letter was written and given into my hands. I myself put it into the post-box in the village that evening.
We saw nothing more of Sir Percival for the rest of the day.
