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The Floating Press - Wilkie Collins

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488 pages

English

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Dig into this juicy domestic drama from famed British novelist and playwright Wilkie Collins. Not only does Man and Wife provide a stunning account of the ups and downs of married life in the Victorian period, it also offers a detailed takedown of the backwards laws and traditions that governed the institution during that era.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775453727
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

MAN AND WIFE
* * *
WILKIE COLLINS

*
Man and Wife First published in 1870 ISBN 978-1-775453-72-7 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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PROLOGUE—THE IRISH MARRIAGE I - The Villa at Hampstead II - The March of Time FIRST SCENE—THE SUMMER-HOUSE Chapter the First - The Owls Chapter the Second - The Guests Chapter the Third - The Discoveries Chapter the Fourth - The Two Chapter the Fifth - The Plan Chapter the Sixth - The Suitor Chapter the Seventh - The Debt Chapter the Eighth - The Scandal SECOND SCENE—THE INN Chapter the Ninth - Anne Chapter the Tenth - Mr. Bishopriggs Chapter the Eleventh - Sir Patrick Chapter the Twelfth - Arnold Chapter the Thirteenth - Blanche THIRD SCENE—LONDON Chapter the Fourteenth - Geoffrey as a Letter-Writer Chapter the Fifteenth - Geoffrey in the Marriage Market Chapter the Sixteenth - Geoffrey as a Public Character FOURTH SCENE—WINDYGATES Chapter the Seventeenth - Near It Chapter the Eighteenth - Nearer Still Chapter the Nineteenth - Close on It Chapter the Twentieth - Touching It Chapter the Twenty-First - Done! Chapter the Twenty-Second - Gone Chapter the Twenty-Third - Traced Chapter the Twenty-Fourth - Backward Chapter the Twenty-Fifth - Forward Chapter the Twenty-Sixth - Dropped Chapter the Twenty-Seventh - Outwitted Chapter the Twenty-Eighth - Stifled FIFTH SCENE—GLASGOW Chapter the Twenty-Ninth - Anne Among the Lawyers Chapter the Thirtieth - Anne in the Newspapers SIXTH SCENE—SWANHAVEN LODGE Chapter the Thirty-First - Seeds of the Future (First Sowing) Chapter the Thirty-Second - Seeds of the Future (Second Sowing) Chapter the Thirty-Third - Seeds of the Future (Third Sowing) SEVENTH SCENE—HAM FARM Chapter the Thirty-Fourth - The Night Before Chapter the Thirty-Fifth - The Day Chapter the Thirty-Sixth - The Truth at Last Chapter the Thirty-Seventh - The Way Out Chapter the Thirty-Eighth - The News from Glasgow EIGHTH SCENE—THE PANTRY Chapter the Thirty-Ninth - Anne Wins a Victory NINTH SCENE—THE MUSIC-ROOM Chapter the Fortieth - Julius Makes Mischief TENTH SCENE—THE BEDROOM Chapter the Forty-First - Lady Lundie Does Her Duty ELEVENTH SCENE—SIR PATRICK'S HOUSE Chapter the Forty-Second - The Smoking-Room Window Chapter the Forty-Third - The Explosion TWELFTH SCENE—DRURY LANE Chapter the Forty-Fourth - The Letter and the Law THIRTEENTH SCENE—FULHAM Chapter the Forty-Fifth - The Foot-Race FOURTEENTH SCENE—PORTLAND PLACE Chapter the Forty-Sixth - A Scotch Marriage FIFTEENTH SCENE—HOLCHESTER HOUSE Chapter the Forty-Seventh - The Last Chance SIXTEENTH SCENE—SALT PATCH Chapter the Forty-Eighth - The Place Chapter the Forty-Ninth - The Night Chapter the Fiftieth - The Morning Chapter the Fifty-First - The Proposal Chapter the Fifty-Second - The Apparition Chapter the Fifty-Third - The Moonlight on the Floor Chapter the Fifty-Fourth - The Manuscript Chapter the Fifty-Fifth - The Signs of the End Chapter the Fifty-Sixth - The Means Chapter the Fifty-Seventh - The End Epilogue - A Morning Call
PROLOGUE—THE IRISH MARRIAGE
*
I - The Villa at Hampstead
*
I
ON a summer's morning, between thirty and forty years ago, two girlswere crying bitterly in the cabin of an East Indian passenger ship,bound outward, from Gravesend to Bombay.
They were both of the same age—eighteen. They had both, from childhoodupward, been close and dear friends at the same school. They were nowparting for the first time—and parting, it might be, for life.
The name of one was Blanche. The name of the other was Anne.
Both were the children of poor parents, both had been pupil-teachers atthe school; and both were destined to earn their own bread. Personallyspeaking, and socially speaking, these were the only points ofresemblance between them.
Blanche was passably attractive and passably intelligent, and no more.Anne was rarely beautiful and rarely endowed. Blanche's parentswere worthy people, whose first consideration was to secure, at anysacrifice, the future well-being of their child. Anne's parents wereheartless and depraved. Their one idea, in connection with theirdaughter, was to speculate on her beauty, and to turn her abilities toprofitable account.
The girls were starting in life under widely different conditions.Blanche was going to India, to be governess in the household of a Judge,under care of the Judge's wife. Anne was to wait at home until thefirst opportunity offered of sending her cheaply to Milan. There, amongstrangers, she was to be perfected in the actress's and the singer'sart; then to return to England, and make the fortune of her family onthe lyric stage.
Such were the prospects of the two as they sat together in the cabin ofthe Indiaman locked fast in each other's arms, and crying bitterly.The whispered farewell talk exchanged between them—exaggerated andimpulsive as girls' talk is apt to be—came honestly, in each case,straight from the heart.
"Blanche! you may be married in India. Make your husband bring you backto England."
"Anne! you may take a dislike to the stage. Come out to India if youdo."
"In England or out of England, married or not married, we will meet,darling—if it's years hence—with all the old love between us; friendswho help each other, sisters who trust each other, for life! Vow it,Blanche!"
"I vow it, Anne!"
"With all your heart and soul?"
"With all my heart and soul!"
The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship began to move in thewater. It was necessary to appeal to the captain's authority before thegirls could be parted. The captain interfered gently and firmly. "Come,my dear," he said, putting his arm round Anne; "you won't mind me! I have got a daughter of my own." Anne's head fell on the sailor'sshoulder. He put her, with his own hands, into the shore-boat alongside.In five minutes more the ship had gathered way; the boat was at thelanding-stage—and the girls had seen the last of each other for many along year to come.
This was in the summer of eighteen hundred and thirty-one.
II
Twenty-four years later—in the summer of eighteen hundred andfifty-five—there was a villa at Hampstead to be let, furnished.
The house was still occupied by the persons who desired to let it. Onthe evening on which this scene opens a lady and two gentlemen wereseated at the dinner-table. The lady had reached the mature age offorty-two. She was still a rarely beautiful woman. Her husband, someyears younger than herself, faced her at the table, sitting silent andconstrained, and never, even by accident, looking at his wife. The thirdperson was a guest. The husband's name was Vanborough. The guest's namewas Kendrew.
It was the end of the dinner. The fruit and the wine were on the table.Mr. Vanborough pushed the bottles in silence to Mr. Kendrew. The lady ofthe house looked round at the servant who was waiting, and said, "Tellthe children to come in."
The door opened, and a girl twelve years old entered, lending by thehand a younger girl of five. They were both prettily dressed in white,with sashes of the same shade of light blue. But there was no familyresemblance between them. The elder girl was frail and delicate, with apale, sensitive face. The younger was light and florid, with round redcheeks and bright, saucy eyes—a charming little picture of happinessand health.
Mr. Kendrew looked inquiringly at the youngest of the two girls.
"Here is a young lady," he said, "who is a total stranger to me."
"If you had not been a total stranger yourself for a whole year past,"answered Mrs. Vanborough, "you would never have made that confession.This is little Blanche—the only child of the dearest friend I have.When Blanche's mother and I last saw each other we were two poorschool-girls beginning the world. My friend went to India, and marriedthere late in life. You may have heard of her husband—the famous Indianofficer, Sir Thomas Lundie? Yes: 'the rich Sir Thomas,' as you call him.Lady Lundie is now on her way back to England, for the first time sinceshe left it—I am afraid to say how many years since. I expected heryesterday; I expect her to-day—she may come at any moment. We exchangedpromises to meet, in the ship that took her to India—'vows' we calledthem in the dear old times. Imagine how changed we shall find each otherwhen we do meet again at last!"
"In the mean time," said Mr. Kendrew, "your friend appears to have sentyou her little daughter to represent her? It's a long journey for soyoung a traveler."
"A journey ordered by the doctors in India a year since," rejoined Mrs.Vanborough. "They said Blanche's health required English air. Sir Thomaswas ill at the time, and his wife couldn't leave him. She had to sendthe child to England, and who should she send her to but me? Look at hernow, and say if the English air hasn't agreed with her! We two mothers,Mr. Kendrew, seem literally to live again in our children. I have anonly child. My friend has an only child. My daughter is little Anne—as I was. My friend's daughter is little Blanche—as she was. And, tocrown it all, those two girls have taken the same fancy to each otherwhich we took to each other in the by-gone days at school. One has oftenheard of hereditary hatred. Is there such a thing as hereditary love aswell?"
Before the guest could answer, his attention was claimed by the masterof the house.
"Kendrew," said Mr. Vanborough, "when you have had enough of domesticsentiment, suppose you take a glass of wine?"
The words were spoken with undisguised co