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The Law and the Lady - Wilkie Collins - ebook

The Law and the Lady ebook

Collins Wilkie

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Wydawca: KtoCzyta.pl
Kategoria: Powieści przygodowe i historyczne
Język: angielski

Opis

A young woman gets married and suddenly finds herself in a situation where her loving and beloved husband turns out to be the bearer of a different surname, and a terrible, dark and discrediting secret is revealed in his past.

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Liczba stron: 701

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Fragment

Contents

Note: Addressed to the Reader

Part I. Paradise Lost

The Bride’s Mistake

The Bride’s Thoughts

Ramsgate Sands

On the Way Home

The Landlady’s Discovery

My Own Discovery

On the Way to the Major

The Friend of the Women

The Defeat of the Major

The Search

The Return to Life

The Scotch Verdict

The Man’s Decision

The Woman’s Answer

Part II. Paradise Regained

The Story of the Trial. The Preliminaries.

First Question ’ Did the Woman Die Poisoned?

Second Question ’ Who Poisoned Her?

Third Question ’ What was His Motive?

The Evidence for the Defense

The End of the Trial

I See My Way

The Major Makes Difficulties

My Mother-In-Law Surh4rises Me

Miserrimus Dexter ’ First View

Miserrimus Dexter ’ Second View

More of My Obstinacy

Mr. Dexter at Home

In the Dark

In the Light

The Indictment of Mrs. Beauly

The Defense of Mrs. Beauly

A Specimen of My Wisdom

A Specimen of My Folly

Gleninch

Mr. Playmore’s Prophecy

Ariel

At the Bedside

On the Journey Back

On the Way to Dexter

Nemesis at Last

Mr. Playmore in a New Character

More Surprises

At Last!

Our New Honeymoon

The Dust-Heap Disturbed

The Crisis Deferred

The Wife’s Confession

What Else Could i Do?

Past and Future

The Last of the Story

Note:

Addressed to the Reader.

IN offering this book to you, I have no Preface to write. I have only to request that you will bear in mind certain established truths, which occasionally escape your memory when you are reading a work of fiction. Be pleased, then, to remember (First): That the actions of human beings are not invariably governed by the laws of pure reason. (Secondly): That we are by no means always in the habit of bestowing our love on the objects which are the most deserving of it, in the opinions of our friends. (Thirdly and Lastly): That Characters which may not have appeared, and Events which may not have taken place, within the limits of our own individual experience, may nevertheless be perfectly natural Characters and perfectly probable Events, for all that. Having said these few words, I have said all that seems to be necessary at the present time, in presenting my new Story to your notice.

W. C.

LONDON, February 1, 1875.

Part i

Paradise Lost

Chapter i

The Bride’s Mistake.

“For after this manner in the old time the holy women also who trusted in God adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands; even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement.”

Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and looked at me across the altar rails with a hearty expression of interest on his broad, red face. At the same time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing by my side, tapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said,

“Valeria, you are married!”

Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too bewildered to know. I started and looked at my new husband. He seemed to be almost as much bewildered as I was. The same thought had, as I believe, occurred to us both at the same moment. Was it really possible–in spite of his mother’s opposition to our marriage–that we were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a second tap on my shoulder.

“Take his arm!” she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all patience with me.

I took his arm.

“Follow your uncle.”

Holding fast by my husband’s arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who had assisted him at the marriage.

The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the dreary quarters of London, situated between the City and the West End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a melancholy little wedding party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood and the dull day. No relatives or friends of my husband’s were present; his family, as I have already hinted, disapproved of his marriage. Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side. I had lost both my parents, and I had but few friends. My dear father’s faithful old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to “give me away,” as the phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn position, he was as good as a father to me.

The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence of any information to guide me) I committed a mistake–ominous, in my aunt Starkweather’s opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married instead of my maiden name.

“What!” cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriest tones, “you have forgotten your own name already? Well, well! let us hope you will never repent parting with it so readily. Try again, Valeria–try again.”

With trembling fingers I struck the pen through my first effort, and wrote my maiden name, very badly indeed, as follows:

Valeria Brinton

When it came to my husband’s turn I noticed, with surprise, that his hand trembled too, and that he produced a very poor specimen of his customary signature:

Eustace Woodville

My aunt, on being requested to sign, complied under protest. “A bad beginning!” she said, pointing to my first unfortunate signature with the feather end of her pen. “I hope, my dear, you may not live to regret it.”

Even then, in the days of my ignorance and my innocence, that curious outbreak of my aunt’s superstition produced a certain uneasy sensation in my mind. It was a consolation to me to feel the reassuring pressure of my husband’s hand. It was an indescribable relief to hear my uncle’s hearty voice wishing me a happy life at parting. The good man had left his north-country Vicarage (my home since the death of my parents) expressly to read the service at my marriage; and he and my aunt had arranged to return by the mid-day train. He folded me in his great strong arms, and he gave me a kiss which must certainly have been heard by the idlers waiting for the bride and bridegroom outside the church door.

“I wish you health and happiness, my love, with all my heart. You are old enough to choose for yourself, and–no offense, Mr. Woodville, you and I are new friends–and I pray God, Valeria, it may turn out that you have chosen well. Our house will be dreary enough without you; but I don’t complain, my dear. On the contrary, if this change in your life makes you happier, I rejoice. Come, come! don’t cry, or you will set your aunt off–and it’s no joke at her time of life. Besides, crying will spoil your beauty. Dry your eyes and look in the glass there, and you will see that I am right. Good-by, child–and God bless you!”

He tucked my aunt under his arm, and hurried out. My heart sank a little, dearly as I loved my husband, when I had seen the last of the true friend and protector of my maiden days.

The parting with old Benjamin came next. “I wish you well, my dear; don’t forget me,” was all he said. But the old days at home came back on me at those few words. Benjamin always dined with us on Sundays in my father’s time, and always brought some little present with him for his master’s child. I was very near to “spoiling my beauty” (as my uncle had put it) when I offered the old man my cheek to kiss, and heard him sigh to himself, as if he too were not quite hopeful about my future life.

My husband’s voice roused me, and turned my mind to happier thoughts.

“Shall we go, Valeria?” he asked.

I stopped him on our way out to take advantage of my uncle’s advice; in other words, to see how I looked in the glass over the vestry fireplace.

What does the glass show me?

This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.

„Mamy usługę, której mógłby pozazdrościć Amazon.”

Robert Drózd

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