No Name

by Wilkie Collins

‘But you are a lady, ma’am,’ objected Louisa, in the greatest perplexity. ‘The servants at St Crux would find you out.’

  ‘I am not at all afraid of their finding me out,’ said Magdalen. ‘I know how to disguise myself in other people’s characters more cleverly than you suppose. Leave me to face the chances of discovery – that is my risk. Let us talk of nothing now, but what concerns you. Don’t decide yet whether you will, or will not, give me the help I want. Wait, and hear first what the help is. You are quick and clever at your needle. Can you make me the sort of gown which it is proper for a servant to wear – and can you alter one of my best silk dresses, so as to make it fit yourself-in a week’s time?’

  ‘I think I could get them done in a week, ma’am. But why am I to wear –?’

  ‘Wait a little, and you will see. I shall give the landlady her week’s notice to-morrow. In the interval, while you are making the dresses, I can be learning the parlour-maid’s duties. When the house-servant here has brought up the dinner, and when you and I are alone in the room – instead of your waiting on me, as usual, I will wait on you. (I am quite serious; don’t interrupt me!) Whatever I can learn besides, without hindering you, I will practise carefully at every opportunity. When the week is over, and the dresses are done, we will leave this place, and go into other lodgings – you as the mistress; and I as the maid.’

  ‘I should be found out, ma’am,’ interposed Louisa, trembling at the prospect before her. ‘I am not a lady.’

  ‘And I am,’ said Magdalen, bitterly. ‘Shall I tell you what a lady is? A lady is a woman who wears a silk gown, and has a sense of her own importance. I shall put the gown on your back, and the sense in your head. You speak good English – you are naturally quiet, and self-restrained – if you can only conquer your timidity, I have not the least fear of you. There will be time enough, in the new lodging, for you to practise your character, and for me to practise mine. There will be time enough to make some more dresses – another gown for me, and your wedding-dress (which I mean to give you) for yourself. I shall have the newspaper sent every day. When the advertisement appears I shall answer it – in any name I can take on the spur of the moment; in your name, if you like to lend it to me – and when the housekeeper asks me for my character I shall refer her to you. She will see you in the position of mistress, and me in the position of maid – no suspicion can possibly enter her mind, unless you put it there. If you only have the courage to follow my instructions, and to say what I shall tell you to say, the interview will be over in ten minutes.’

  ‘You frighten me, ma’am,’ said Louisa, still trembling. ‘You take my breath away with surprise. Courage! Where shall I find courage?’

  ‘Where I keep it for you,’ said Magdalen – ‘in the passage-money to Australia. Look at the new prospect which gives you a husband, and restores you to your child – and you will find your courage there.’

  Louisa’s sad face brightened; Louisa’s faint heart beat quick. A spark of her mistress’s spirit flew up into her eyes, as she thought of the golden future.

  ‘If you accept my proposal,’ pursued Magdalen, ‘you can be asked in church at once, if you like. I promise you the money, on the day when the advertisement appears in the newspaper. The risk of the housekeeper’s rejecting me, is my risk – not yours. My good looks are sadly gone off, I know. But I think I can still hold my place against the other servants – I think I can still look the parlour-maid whom Admiral Bartram wants. There is nothing for you to fear in this matter; I should not have mentioned it if there had been. The only danger, is the danger of my being discovered at St Crux – and that falls entirely on me. By the time I am in the admiral’s house, you will be married, and the ship will be taking you to your new life.’

  Louisa’s face, now brightening with hope, now clouding again with fear, showed plain signs of the struggle which it cost her to decide. She tried to gain time; she attempted confusedly to speak a few words of gratitude – but her mistress silenced her.

  ‘You owe me no thanks,’ said Magdalen. ‘I tell you again, we are only helping each other. I have very little money, but it is enough for your purpose, and I give it you freely. I have led a wretched life; I have made others wretched about me. I can’t even make you happy, except by tempting you to a new deceit. There! there! it’s not your fault. Worse women than you are will help me, if you refuse. Decide as you like – but don’t be afraid of taking the money. If I succeed, I shall not want it. If I fail –’

  She stopped; rose abruptly from her chair; and hid her face from Louisa by walking away to the fireplace.

  ‘If I fail,’ she resumed, warming her foot carelessly at the fender, ‘all the money in the world will be of no use to me. Never mind why -never mind Me – think of yourself. I won’t take advantage of the confession you have made to me; I won’t influence you against your will. Do as you yourself think best. But remember one thing – my mind is made up: nothing you can say or do will change it.’

  Her sudden removal from the table, the altered tones of her voice as she spoke the last words, appeared to renew Louisa’s hesitation. She clasped her hands together in her lap, and wrung them hard. ‘This has come on me very suddenly, ma’am,’ said the girl. ‘I am sorely tempted to say, Yes. And yet, I’m almost afraid. –’

  ‘Take the night to consider it,’ interposed Magdalen, keeping her face persistently turned towards the fire; ‘and tell me what you have decided to do, when you come into my room to-morrow morning. I shall want no help to-night – I can undress myself. You are not so strong as I am; you are tired, I dare say. Don’t sit up on my account. Good night, Louisa, and pleasant dreams!’

  Her voice sank lower and lower, as she spoke those kind words. She sighed heavily; and, leaning her arm on the mantelpiece, laid her head on it with a reckless weariness miserable to see. Louisa had not left the room, as she supposed – Louisa came softly to her side, and kissed her hand. Magdalen started; but she made no attempt, this time, to draw her hand away. The sense of her own horrible isolation subdued her, at the touch of the servant’s lips. Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled with burning tears. ‘Don’t distress me!’ she said, faintly. ‘The time for kindness has gone by; it only overpowers me now. Good night!’

  When the morning came, the affirmative answer which Magdalen had anticipated, was the answer given.

  On that day, the landlady received her week’s notice to quit; and Louisa’s needle flew fast through the stitches of the parlour-maid’s dress.

  THE END OF THE SIXTH SCENE

  BETWEEN THE SCENES

  PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST

  One

  From Miss Garth to Mr Pendril

  ‘Westmoreland House, Jan. 3rd, 1848

  ‘DEAR MR PENDRIL,

  ‘I write, as you kindly requested, to report how Norah is going on, and to tell you what changes I see for the better in the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.

  ‘I cannot say that she is becoming resigned to Magdalen’s continued silence – I know her faithful nature too well to say it. I can only tell you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy pressure of sorrow and suspense, in new thoughts and new hopes. I doubt if she has yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she is not conscious of it herself. I see her heart opening to the consolation of another interest and another love. She has not said a word to me on the subject – nor have I said a word to her. But as certainly as I know that Mr George Bartram’svisits have lately grown more and more frequent to the family at Portland Place – so certainly I can assure you that Norah is finding a relief under her suspense, which is not of my bringing, and a hope in the future, which I have not taught her to feel.

  ‘It is needless for me to say that I tell you this, in the strictest confidence. God knows whether the happy prospect which seems to me to be just dawning, will grow brighter or not, as time goes on. The oftener I see Mr George Bartram – and he has called on me more than once –
the stronger my liking for him grows. To my poor judgment he seems to be a gentleman, in the highest and truest sense of the word. If I could live to see Norah his wife – I should almost feel that I had lived long enough. But who can discern the future? We have suffered so much that I am afraid to hope.

  ‘Have you heard anything of Magdalen? I don’t know why or how it is – but since I have known of her husband’s death, my old tenderness for her seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever.

  ‘Always yours truly,

  ‘HARRIET GARTH’

  Two

  From Mr Pendril to Miss Garth

  ‘Serle Street, Jan. 4th, 1848

  ‘DEAR MISS GARTH,

  ‘Of Mrs Noel Vanstone herself I have heard nothing. But I have learnt, since I saw you, that the report of the position in which she is left bythe death of her husband may be depended upon as the truth. No legacy of any kind is bequeathed to her. Her name is not once mentioned in her husband’s will.

  ‘Knowing what we know, it is not to be concealed that this circumstance threatens us with more embarrassment, and perhaps with more distress. Mrs Noel Vanstone is not the woman to submit, without a desperate resistance, to the total overthrow of all her schemes and all her hopes. The mere fact that nothing whatever has been heard of her since her husband’s death, is suggestive to my mind of serious mischief to come. In her situation, and with her temper, the quieter she is now, the more inveterately I, for one, distrust her in the future. It is impossible to say to what violent measures her present extremity may not drive her. It is impossible to feel sure, that she may not be the cause of some public scandal, this time, which may affect her innocent sister as well as herself.

  ‘I know you will not misinterpret the motive which has led me to write these lines; I know you will not think that I am inconsiderate enough to cause you unnecessary alarm. My sincere anxiety to see that happy prospect realized to which your letter alludes, has caused me to write far less reservedly than I might otherwise have written. I strongly urge you to use your influence, on every occasion when you can fairly exert it, to strengthen that growing attachment, and to place it beyond the reach of any coming disasters, while you have the opportunity of doing so. When I tell you that the fortune of which Mrs Noel Vanstone has been deprived, is entirely bequeathed to Admiral Bartram – and when I add that Mr George Bartram is generally understood to be his uncle’s heir – you will, I think, acknowledge that I am not warning you without a cause.

  ‘Yours most truly,

  ‘WILLIAM PENDRIL’

  Three

  From Admiral Bartram to Mrs Drake (housekeeper at St Crux).

  ‘St Crux, Jan. 10th, 1848

  ‘MRS DRAKE,

  ‘I have received your letter from London, stating that you have found me a new parlour–maid at last, and that the girl is ready toreturn with you to St Crux, when your other errands in town allow you to come back.

  ‘This arrangement must be altered immediately, for a reason which I am heartily sorry to have to write.

  ‘The illness of my niece, Mrs Girdlestone – which appeared to be so slight as to alarm none of us, doctors includued – has ended fatally. I received this morning the shocking news of her death. Her husband is said to be quite frantic with grief. Mr George has already gone to his brother–in–law’s, to superintend the last melancholy duties – and I must follow him, before the funeral takes place. We propose to take Mr Girdlestone away afterwards, and to try the effect on him of change of place and new scenes. Under these sad circumstances, I may be absent from St Crux a month or six weeks at least – the house will be shut up –and the new servant will not be wanted until my return.

  ‘You will therefore tell the girl, on receiving this letter, that a death in the family has caused a temporary change in our arrangements. If she is willing to wait, you may safely engage her to come here in six weeks’ time – I shall be back then, if Mr George is not. If she refuses pay her what compensation is right, and so have done with her.

  ‘Yours,

  ‘ARTHUR BARTRAM’

  Four

  From Mrs Drake to Admiral Bartram

  Jan.11th

  ’HONOURED SIR,

  ‘I hope to get my errands done, and to return to St Crux to-morrow – but write to save you anxiety, in case of delay.

  ‘The young woman whom I have engaged (Louisa by name) is willing to wait your time; and her present mistress, taking an interest in her welfare, will provide for her during the interval. She understands that she is to enter on her new service in six weeks from the present date– namely, on the twenty–fifth of February next.

  ‘Begging you will accept my respectful sympathy under the sad bereavement which has befallen the family,

  ‘I remain, Honoured Sir, your humble servant,

  ‘SOPHIA DRAKE’

  THE SEVENTH SCENE

  ST CRUX-IN-THE-MARSH

  Chapter One

  ‘This is where you are to sleep. Put yourself tidy; and then come down again to my room. The admiral has returned, and you will have to begin by waiting on him at dinner to-day.‘

  With those words Mrs Drake, the housekeeper, closed the door; and the new parlour-maid was left alone in her bedchamber at St Crux.

  That day was the eventful twenty-fifth of February. In barely four months from the time when Mrs Lecount had placed her master‘s private instructions in his Executor’s hands, the one combination of circumstances against which it had been her first and foremost object to provide, was exactly the combination which had now taken place. Mr Noel Vanstone’s widow, and Admiral Bartram’s Secret Trust were together in the same house.

  Thus far, events had declared themselves, without an exception, in Magdalen’s favour. Thus far, the path which had led her to St Crux, had been a path without an obstacle. Louisa – whose name she had now taken – had sailed three days since for Australia with her husband and her child: she was the only living creature whom Magdalen had trusted with her secret, and she was by this time out of sight of the English land. The girl had been careful, reliable and faithfully devoted to her mistress’s interests to the last. She had passed the ordeal of her interview with the housekeeper, and had forgotten none of the instructions by which she had been prepared to meet it. She had herself proposed to turn the six weeks‘ delay, caused by the death in the admiral’s family, to good account, by continuing the all-important practise of those domestic lessons, on the perfect acquirement of which her mistress’s daring stratagem depended for its success. Thanks to the time thus gained, when Louisa’s marriage was over, and the day of parting had come, Magdalen had learnt and mastered, in the nicest detail, everything that her former servant could teach her. On the day when she passed the doors of St Crux, she entered on her desperate venture, strong in the ready presence of mind under emergencies which her later life had taught her – stronger still, in the trained capacity that she possessed for the assumption of a character not her own – strongest of all, in her two months’ daily familiarity with the practical duties of the position which she had undertaken to fill.

  As soon as Mrs Drake’s departure had left her alone, she unpacked her box, and dressed herself for the evening.

  She put on a lavender-coloured stuff gown – half-mourning for Mrs Girdlestone; ordered for all the servants, under the admiral’s instructions – a white muslin apron, and a neat white cap and collar, with ribbons to match the gown. In this servant’s costume – in the plain gown fastening high round her neck, in the neat little white cap at the back of her head – in this simple dress, to the eyes of all men, not linendrapers, at once the most modest and the most alluring that a woman can wear, the sad changes which mental suffering had wrought in her beauty almost disappeared from view. In the evening costume of a lady; with her bosom uncovered, with her figure armed, rather than dressed, in unpliable silk – the admiral might have passed her by without notice in his own drawing-room. In the evening costume of a servant, no admirer of beauty could have
looked at her once, and not have turned again to look at her for the second time.

  Descending the stairs, on her way to the housekeeper’s room, she passed by the entrances to two long stone corridors, with rows of doors opening on them; one corridor situated on the second, and one on the first floor of the house. ‘Many rooms!’ she thought, as she looked at the doors. ‘Weary work, searching here for what I have come to find!’

  On reaching the ground floor she was met by a weather-beaten old man, who stopped and stared at her with an appearance of great interest. He was the same old man whom Captain Wragge had seen, in the back-yard at St Crux, at work on the model of a ship. All round the neighbourhood he was known, far and wide, as ‘the admiral’s coxswain’. His name was Mazey. Sixty years had written their story of hard work at sea, and hard drinking on shore, on the veteran’s grim and wrinkled face. Sixty years had proved his fidelity, and had brought his battered old carcase, at the end of the voyage, into port in his master’s house.

  Seeing no one else of whom she could inquire, Magdalen requested the old man to show her the way that led to the housekeeper’s room.

  ‘I’ll show you, my dear,’ said old Mazey, speaking in the high and hollow voice peculiar to the deaf. ‘You’re the new maid – eh? And a fine-grown girl, too! His honour, the admiral, likes a parlour-maid with a clean run fore and aft. You’ll do, my dear – you’ll do.’

  ‘You must not mind what Mr Mazey says to you,’ remarked the housekeeper, opening her door as the old sailor expressed his approval of Magdalen in these terms. ‘He is privileged to talk as he pleases; and he is very tiresome and slovenly in his habits – but he means no harm.’

  With that apology for the veteran, Mrs Drake led Magdalen first to the pantry, and next to the linen-room; installing her, with all due formality, in her own domestic dominions. This ceremony completed, the new parlour-maid was taken upstairs, and was shown the dining-room, which opened out of the corridor on the first floor. Here, she was directed to lay the cloth, and to prepare the table for one person only – Mr George Bartram not having returned with his uncle to St Crux. Mrs Drake’s sharp eyes watched Magdalen attentively, as she performed this introductory duty; and Mrs Drake’s private convictions, when the table was spread, forced her to acknowledge, so far, that the new servant thoroughly understood her work.