The French Lieutenant's Woman - John Fowles (5 page)

Having quelled the wolves
Ernestina went to her dressing table, unlocked a drawer and there pulled
out her diary, in black morocco with a gold clasp. From another drawer
she took a hidden key and unlocked the book. She turned immediately to
the back page. There she had written out, on the day of her betrothal to
Charles, the dates of all the months and days that lay between it and her
marriage. Neat lines were drawn already through two months; some ninety
numbers remained; and now Ernestina took the ivory-topped pencil from the
top of the diary and struck through March 26th. It still had nine hours
to run, but she habitually allowed herself this little cheat. Then she
turned to the front of the book, or nearly to the front, because the book
had been a Christmas present. Some fifteen pages in, pages of close handwriting,
there came a blank, upon which she had pressed a sprig of jasmine. She
stared at it a moment, then bent to smell it. Her loosened hair fell over
the page, and she closed her eyes to see if once again she could summon
up the most delicious, the day she had thought she would die of joy, had
cried endlessly, the ineffable . ..

But she heard Aunt Tranter's
feet on the stairs, hastily put the book away, and began to comb her lithe
brown hair.
 
 

Ah Maud, you milk-white
fawn, you are all unmeet
for a wife.
--
Tennyson, Maud (1855)

Mrs. Poulteney's face,
that afternoon when the vicar made his return and announcement, expressed
a notable ignorance. And with ladies of her kind, an unsuccessful appeal
to knowledge is more often than not a successful appeal to disapproval.
Her face was admirably suited to the latter sentiment; it had eyes that
were not Tennyson's "homes of silent prayer" at all, and lower cheeks,
almost dewlaps, that pinched the lips together in condign rejection of
all that threatened her two life principles: the one being (I will borrow
Treitschke's sarcastic formulation) that "Civilization is Soap" and the
other, "Respectability is what does not give me offense." She bore some
resemblance to a white Pekinese; to be exact, to a stuffed Pekinese, since
she carried concealed in her bosom a small bag of camphor as a prophylactic
against cholera .. . so that where she was, was always also a delicate
emanation of mothballs.

"
I do not know her."

The vicar felt snubbed; and
wondered what would have happened had the Good Samaritan come upon Mrs.
Poulteney instead of the poor traveler.

"
I did not suppose you would.
She is a Charmouth girl."

"
A girl?"

"
That is, I am not quite
sure of her age, a woman, a lady of some thirty years of age. Perhaps more.
I would not like to hazard a guess." The vicar was conscious that he was
making a poor start for the absent defendant. "But a most distressing case.
Most deserving of your charity."

"
Has she an education?"

"
Yes indeed. She was trained
to be a governess. She was a governess."

"
And what is she now?"

"
I believe she is without
employment."

"
Why?"

"
That is a long story."

"
I should certainly wish
to hear it before proceeding."

So the vicar sat down again,
and told her what he knew, or some (for in his brave attempt to save Mrs.
Poulteney's soul, he decided to endanger his own) of what he knew, of Sarah
Woodruff.
"
The girl's father was a
tenant of Lord Meriton's, near Beaminster. A farmer merely, but a man of
excellent principles and highly respected in that neighborhood. He most
wisely provided the girl with a better education than one would expect."

"
He is deceased?"

"
Some several years ago.
The girl became a governess to Captain John Talbot's family at Charmouth."

"
Will he give a letter of
reference?"

"
My dear Mrs. Poulteney,
we are discussing, if I understood our earlier conversation aright, an
object of charity, not an object of employment." She bobbed, the nearest
acknowledgment to an apology she had ever been known to muster. "No doubt
such a letter can be obtained. She left his home at her own request. What
happened was this. You will recall the French barque--I think she hailed
from Saint Malo--that was driven ashore under Stonebarrow in the dreadful
gale of last December? And you will no doubt recall that three of the crew
were saved and were taken in by the people of Charmouth? Two were simple
sailors. One, I understand, was the lieutenant of the vessel. His leg had
been crushed at the first impact, but he clung to a spar and was washed
ashore. You must surely have read of this."

"
Very probably. I do not
like the French."

"
Captain Talbot, as a naval
officer himself, most kindly charged upon his household the care of the
... foreign officer. He spoke no English. And Miss Woodruff was called
upon to interpret and look after his needs."

"
She speaks French?" Mrs.
Poulteney's alarm at this appalling disclosure was nearly enough to sink
the vicar. But he ended by bowing and smiling urbanely.

"
My dear madam, so do most
governesses. It is not their fault if the world requires such attainments
of them. But to return to the French gentleman. I regret to say that he
did not deserve that appellation."

"
Mr. Forsythe!"

She drew herself up, but
not too severely, in case she might freeze the poor man into silence.

"
I hasten to add that no
misconduct took place at Captain Talbot's. Or indeed, so far as Miss Woodruff
is concerned, at any subsequent place or time. I have Mr. Fursey-Harris's
word for that. He knows the circumstances far better than I." The person
referred to was the vicar of Charmouth. "But the Frenchman managed to engage
Miss Woodruff's affections. When his leg was mended he took coach to Weymouth,
there, or so it was generally supposed, to find a passage home. Two days
after he had gone Miss Woodruff requested Mrs. Talbot, in the most urgent
terms, to allow her to leave her post. I am told that Mrs. Talbot tried
to extract the woman's reasons. But without success."

"
And she let her leave without
notice?"

The vicar adroitly seized
his chance. "I agree--it was most foolish. She should have known better.
Had Miss Woodruff been in wiser employ I have no doubt this sad business
would not have taken place." He left a pause for Mrs. Poulteney to grasp
the implied compliment. "I will make my story short. Miss Woodruff joined
the Frenchman in Weymouth. Her conduct is highly to be reprobated, but
I am informed that she lodged with a female cousin."

"
That does not excuse her
in my eyes."

"
Assuredly not. But you must
remember that she is not a lady born. The lower classes are not so scrupulous
about appearances as ourselves. Furthermore I have omitted to tell you
that the Frenchman had plighted his troth. Miss Woodruff went to Weymouth
in the
belief that she was to marry."

"
But was he not a Catholic?"

Mrs. Poulteney saw herself
as a pure Patmos in a raging ocean of popery.

"
I am afraid his conduct
shows he was without any Christian faith. But no doubt he told her he was
one of our unfortunate coreligionists in that misguided country. After
some days he returned to France, promising Miss Woodruff that as soon as
he had seen his family and provided himself with a new ship--another of
his lies was that he was to be promoted captain on his return--he would
come back here, to Lyme itself, marry her, and take her away with him.
Since then she has waited. It is quite clear that the man was a heartless
deceiver. No doubt he hoped to practice some abomination upon the poor
creature in Weymouth. And when her strong Christian principles showed him
the futility of his purposes, he took ship."

"
And what has happened to
her since? Surely Mrs. Talbot did not take her back?"

"
Madam, Mrs. Talbot is a
somewhat eccentric lady. She offered to do so. But I now come to the sad
consequences of my story. Miss Woodruff is not insane. Far from it. She
is perfectly able to perform any duties that may be given to her. But she
suffers from grave attacks of melancholia. They are doubtless partly attributable
to remorse. But also, I fear, to her fixed delusion that the lieutenant
is an honorable man and will one day return to her. For that reason she
may be frequently seen haunting the sea approaches to our town. Mr. Fursey-Harris
himself has earnestly endeavored to show to the woman the hopelessness,
not to say the impropriety, of her behavior. Not to put too fine a point
upon it, madam, she is slightly crazed."

There was a silence then.
The vicar resigned himself to a pagan god--that of chance. He sensed that
Mrs. Poulteney was calculating. Her opinion of herself required her to
appear shocked and alarmed at the idea of allowing such a creature into
Marlborough House. But there was God to be accounted to.

"
She has relatives?"

"
I understand not."

"
How has she supported herself
since ...?"

"
Most pitifully. I understand
she has been doing a little needlework. I think Mrs. Tranter has employed
her in such work. But she has been living principally on her savings from
her previous situation."

"
She has saved, then."

The vicar breathed again.

"
If you take her in, madam,
I think she will be truly saved." He played his trump card. "And perhaps--though
it is not for me to judge your conscience--she may in her turn save."

Mrs. Poulteney suddenly had
a dazzling and heavenly vision; it was of Lady Cotton, with her saintly
nose
out of joint. She frowned
and stared at her deep-piled carpet.

"
I should like Mr. Fursey-Harris
to call."

And a week later, accompanied
by the vicar of Lyme, he called, sipped madeira, and said--and omitted--as
his ecclesiastical colleague had advised. Mrs. Talbot provided an interminable
letter of reference, which did more harm than good, since it failed disgracefully
to condemn sufficiently the governess's conduct. One phrase in particular
angered Mrs. Poulteney. "Monsieur Varguennes was a person of considerable
charm, and Captain Talbot wishes me to suggest to you that a sailor's life
is not the best school of morals." Nor did it interest her that Miss Sarah
was a "skilled and dutiful teacher" or that "My infants have deeply missed
her." But Mrs. Talbot's patent laxity of standard and foolish sentimentality
finally helped Sarah with Mrs. Poulteney; they set her a challenge.

So Sarah came for an interview,
accompanied by the vicar. She secretly pleased Mrs. Poulteney from the
start, by seeming so cast down, so annihilated by circumstance. It was
true that she looked suspiciously what she indeed was-- nearer twenty-five
than "thirty or perhaps more." But there was her only too visible sorrow,
which showed she was a sinner, and Mrs. Poulteney wanted nothing to do
with anyone who did not look very clearly to be in that category. And there
was her reserve, which Mrs. Poulteney took upon herself to interpret as
a mute gratitude. Above all, with the memory of so many departed domestics
behind her, the old lady abhorred impertinence and forwardness, terms synonymous
in her experience with speaking before being spoken to and anticipating
her demands, which deprived her of the pleasure of demanding why they had
not been anticipated.

Then, at the vicar's suggestion,
she dictated a letter. The handwriting was excellent, the spelling faultless.
She set a more cunning test. She passed Sarah her Bible and made her read.
Mrs. Poulteney had devoted some thought to the choice of passage; and had
been sadly torn between Psalm 119 ("Blessed are the undefiled") and Psalm
140 ("Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man"). She had finally chosen the
former; and listened not only to the reading voice, but also for any fatal
sign that the words of the psalmist were not being taken very much to the
reader's heart.

Sarah's voice was firm, rather
deep. It retained traces of a rural accent, but in those days a genteel
accent was not the great social requisite it later became. There were men
in the House of Lords, dukes even, who still kept traces of the accent
of their province; and no one thought any the worse of them. Perhaps it
was by contrast with Mrs. Fairley's uninspired stumbling that the voice
first satisfied Mrs. Poulteney. But it charmed her; and so did the demeanor
of the girl as she read "O that my ways were directed to keep Thy
statutes!"