Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2026 page)

Wal. (reading).
“Blackwater Park, September fourth, eighteen hundred and sixty-two. DEAR FOSCO, — All has passed exactly as you wished. Lady Glyde starts for London to-day by the two-forty train. Yours, PERCIVAL GLYDE.” (WALTER
speaks to himself.)
The medical certificate declares that Lady Glyde died on the third. Here is her husband’s letter dated the fourth, and signed by his name. The proof at last!

Fosco (handing him the second paper).
The present address of the valet and his wife, who saw her alive at Blackwater on the morning of the fourth. Witnesses in support of the evidence of the letter.

Wal. (Joyously).
This completes it! Oh, Laura! (FOSCO,
after looking at
WALTER
with contemptuous surprise, turns away, and lights a cigarette.
WALTER
continues to himself.)
I have forced the evidence out of him which makes me happy for life. Villain as he is, can I leave him recklessly to his fate? Is it possible to warn him without betraying Pesca?
(He addresses
FOSCO.) Count Fosco, I have a last word to say before I go. I express no opinion of Madame Fosco’s conduct to her niece. But I ask
you,
in the name of your innocent victim, have you no word of repentance to say at parting?

Fosco (loftily).
Stop, Mr. Hartright! You have mentioned Madame Fosco in a tone that there is no mistaking. I assert my wife’s sublime devotion of herself to my interests, as one of my wife’s virtues. What duty does the marriage obligation impose on a woman in this respectable country of yours? It charges her, unreservedly, to love, honour, and obey her husband. That is exactly what Madame Fosco has done. Silence, Calumny! Your sympathy, wives of England, for Madame Fosco!

Wal. (turning away).
I might have known it! Who could hope to touch that impenetrable heart?

Fosco.
As for me, what have I to repent of? With my vast resources in chemistry, I might have taken Lady Glyde’s life. At immense personal sacrifice, I followed the dictates of my own humanity, and took her identity instead. Judge me by what I
might
have done. How comparatively innocent, how indirectly virtuous I appear in what I really did!

Wal. (turning away in disgust).
I have heard enough!

(He crosses to the door on the right, and opens it.)

Fosco.
A message before you go — a message to Miss Halcombe. It is to her influence, sir, that you are to attribute every weakness that I have shown, every concession that I have made. Say, when you see Miss Halcombe
(he strikes his heart)
that her image is here! She looked thin and ill when I saw her last. Take care of that noble creature! I earnestly entreat you, sir, take care of Miss Halcombe!

(He waves his hand, and turns away.)

Wal. (looking back through the open door, and laying a strong emphasis on the last word).
Take care of YOURSELF!

(He goes out, closing the door.)

Fosco (turning rapidly).
What? — Bah! what does
he
know? The last empty threat of a man writhing under my impenetrable calm!
(He stretches his arms luxuriously.)
Ouf! the skirmish has been hot! I am satisfied with myself. I have been dignified — I have been eloquent — I have been superior to my adversary all the way through. Give me a few hours more — give me time and room for my own grand combinations — and I will set my foot yet on this miserable Brotherhood that threatens me!
(The birds in the ante-chamber, awakened by his voice, begin to twitter faintly.
FOSCO
instantly approaches them, and stands talking to them, with his back turned towards the room.)
Ha! my little feathered children, have I woke you up? I must part with you, my pret-pret-pretties. I must leave you in the care of a friend. Have a bonbon, my pets, at parting!

(He takes out his box, and puts a bonbon between the bars of the cage, still talking to the birds in dumb slow. At the moment when he is silent, one of the men in the conservatory takes a key from his pocket; noiselessly opens the glass door, and looks into the room. He signs to his comrade to go up the conservatory. The second man goes up, and is lost to view. The first man draws his dagger; and, advancing into the room, steals towards
FOSCO.
Arrived nearly within arm’s length of the Count, his foot strikes against a chair.
FOSCO
instantly turns round from the birdcage. At the same moment, the second man, who has been out of sight, springs on him from behind, in the ante-chamber, and throws one arm round his throat. The first man, at a blow, stabs him to the heart. He sinks with a low cry on the man who holds him by the throat. The man, aided by his accomplice, lays the dead body on the floor of the ante-chamber. This done, the two men, lifting their daggers in their left hands, join their right hands solemnly over the corpse — stand, for a moment, in that position — and then disappear: one by the door at the back, which opens out of the ante-chamber: the other by way of the conservatory. The body of
FOSCO
lies in the moonlight. For a moment or two there is silence. Then a knock is heard at the door on the right. After another pause, the voice of
MADAME FOSCO
is audible outside, saying — ”Count! may I come in?”

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

A Dramatic Story

IN A PROLOGUE AND THREE ACTS.

1873

THE NEW MAGDALEN.

THE PROLOGUE

Period — 1870. Place — France.

Scene. —
The scene represents a bedroom in a cottage on the frontier of France and Germany. A side-door on the right; a window closed by a shutter on the right. A bed on the left, standing back in a corner. Above the bed, a shelf projecting from the wall, with a small handlooking-glass and some household utensils on it. A round table and two chairs on the right. On the table, writing materials, a box of matches, and a burning candle. Behind the table, in a corner, some empty sacks, thrown on the floor. At the back, in the centre, an arched opening, screened by a canvas curtain, and supposed to lead into an outer room. On the left, a fireplace, with the red embers of a wood fire burning in it. Time, night.

On the rise of the curtain, the
FRENCH CAPTAIN
is discovered, seated at the table, reading some letters. The
FRENCH SURGEON
lifts the curtain at the back and enters the room.

The Surgeon
. Captain, are we safe here for the night?

The Captain
. Surgeon, why do you ask that question?

The Surgeon
. I ask it in the interests of our wounded men. I have got them in that room (
he points to the outer room
) under shelter for the first time for four-and-twenty hours. It would be a thousand pities to move them, without a pressing reason for it. What would you advise me to do?

The Captain
. I have no advice to give you.

The Surgeon
. Surely, you ought to know!

The Captain
. My friend, I know two things only. First — that we have surprised a skirmishing party of the Germans, and driven them back over the frontier. Second — that we are in possession of this cottage, and strongly posted on the ground about it. There my information ends. Here are the intercepted papers of the enemy (
he holds them up
). They tell me nothing that I can rely on. For all I know to the contrary, the main body of the Germans — out-numbering us ten to one — may be nearer to this cottage than the main body of the French. Decide for yourself what you will do.

The Surgeon
. I decide to run the risk, and leave the men in peace, on their straw. (
The
CAPTAIN
rises.
) Where are you going?

The Captain
. To visit the outposts.

The Surgeon
. Shall you want this room for a little while?

The Captain
. Not for hours to come. Are you thinking of moving your wounded men in here?

The Surgeon
. I was thinking of the English lady who remains on our hands, now the Germans are driven back. She would be more comfortable here than in the outer room. And the English nurse attached to the ambulance might keep her company.

The Captain
. I have no objection. Let the ladies come in when they like. How is the weather? Still raining?

The Surgeon
. Pouring. And as dark as pitch.

The Captain
. The darker the better. The Germans won’t see us. Good night!

(
He goes out on the right. The
SURGEON
lifts the curtain at the back, and calls into the outer room.
)

The Surgeon
. Miss Merrick!

Mercy
(
from the room
). Yes?

The Surgeon
. Have you time enough to take a little rest?

Mercy
(
as before
). Plenty of time.

The Surgeon
. Come in, then, and bring the English lady with you. Here is a quiet room all to yourselves.

(
He draws aside the curtain.
MERCY MERRICK,
dressed as a nurse in black merino, with plain collar and cuffs, and with the red cross of the Geneva Convention round her left arm, enters, leading
GRACE ROSEBERRY. GRACE
is dressed in a long grey cloak which entirely covers her
.)

Mercy
. Thank you, Surgeon. (
The
SURGEON
bows and goes out at the back.
MERCY
continues, addressing
GRACE.) Will you take a chair, madam?

Grace
(
cordially
). Don’t call me madam. My name is GRACE ROSEBERRY. What is your name?

Mercy
. Not a pretty name, like yours. (
After a moment’s hesitation.
) Mercy Merrick.

(
They seat themselves on the left.
)

Grace
. How can I thank you for your sisterly kindness to a stranger like me?