The sun had begun to break the clouds and give a soft golden light through the gray skies. Marian held Walter's arm as they left the pub and turned the corner. The scene changed. There were no longer rowdy, angry men and fallen women, down the street the people changed. The houses were cleaner. The white paint was clean and crisp, stable and respectable. Iron gates surrounded the front yards, dogs walked at their master's sides. Walter pointed out notable sights in the community. They kept close to each other, and Marian let her shawl fall to her shoulders, no longer afraid to let her hair shine in the sunlight. The light caught Walter's eye. He smiled as he looked at Marian; her eyes gazing around the street anxiously looking for something interesting to look at, as if she were a wandering child. The streets grew busier; they were heading towards the river.
Walter looked ahead of him as he reached the bridge. Marian kept her eyes in a steady gaze, staring at the magnificent structures across the river. The clock tower reappeared into view in the fog. Marian left Walter's arm and quickened her pace to reach the bridge. There were tall street lamps, their curving patterns like great black trees coming up from the edge of the water. Her eyes looked on the massive pillars holding the bridge, the strong tides forcing the river to part paths at each column. Marian turned away from the stairs to the bridge, and instead turned left to stand upon the walkway following the river. Marian reached a clear view, and held on to one of the streetlamps as she stared in wonder upon the landmark of Parliament, stepping up onto the bottom rail like a young girl wanting to stare over a crowd. Walter approached slowly.
"Oh it is so beautiful. It's been so long since I've seen it last." Marian whispered. She turned to Walter. He was not beside her. She released the lamppost and turned around. Walter had stopped and had placed his sketchbook onto the bench. "Walter, what is it?"
"Stay where you were." He said calmly. "Actually, stand here." Walter said, as he approached Marian and held her arms softly as he guided her to the railing,
"Put your arms here." He said, holding her arms and putting his hands onto hers as he stood behind her and put her hands on the balustrade. She felt his breath behind her, his face over her shoulder. Walter smiled and arranged her shawl to fall off her shoulders and gather across her back. Marian stood still, frozen under his hands.
"Could I take your hair out?" Walter said softy. "I want to sketch you here, just as you were gazing across the river."
Marian nodded. She felt Walter's hand stroke her hair and pull out the pins of her net, letting her hair fall down her back. He brushed his fingers through her hair. Marian smiled and closed her eyes. She remembered Laura. Marian remembered the nights when they would brush each other's hair and tell stories. But these were not Laura's hands. A new feeling, a rushing excitement filled her body and she smiled coyly. Walter stared at her hair, it fell above her waist and he pressed her curls between his fingers. Walter stepped back, stroked her hair one last time before picking up his sketchbook and standing at her right.
"Look out at the water." Walter said softly. His hand extended out and he held it in front of Marian's eyes to position her gaze. Marian stayed still. "Alright, try not to move too much. This shouldn't take too long."
"Certainly." Marian smiled. She kept her eyes out on the water. She controlled her breath, concentrating to hold her place. She heard the sound of Walter's pencil scratching against the paper. Her eyes stayed in a straight gaze at an area across the bridge. It was a small square, with scattered trees and benches facing the river. She grasped the balustrade tightly. Her eyes stared upon a couple. They stared at her. The man stood tall with a top hat and a cane in his right hand, a well dressed woman with a fur around her shoulders stood at his side. The woman smiled. They looked out at the river and embraced. Marian grew cold. They kissed.
The sound of Walter's pencil came back to her ears, furiously scratching across the paper. Marian's eyes fell low. Her concentration kept her still, but her mind wandered just the same. She looked up again, watching her breath form white clouds in front of her face and disappear. She would disappear too. The couple held each other for a moment more, before the woman smiled and held the man's arm as they continued down the path. Emptiness consumed her. The air felt colder than before. Marian breathed quickly as she began to tremble. The world was no longer beautiful. There seemed to be a sudden hopelessness, a desolation infecting her eyes. She was overwhelmed with grief. Laura. Marian kept her eyes on the water, looking out towards the horizon. It felt beyond her reach, the sun had gone down on her. Tears came to Marian's eyes. She tried to stop herself, thinking of something else, but loneliness consumed her. It froze her limbs and her mind grew frantic. She let her eyes gaze toward the length of the House of Parliament and even then her sadness did not leave. She imagined all of the men sitting within those walls, men who had all of the power she lacked in turning every thought of revenge and justice for her sister into action. She thought on her own love, her own indescribable passion for the artist behind her standing between her and the road to justice as the violent flowing Thames between her, trapped behind the balustrade, and the towering halls of glorious justice beckoning from the Houses of Parliament.
Walter's pencil had stopped.
"Marian." Walter said softly. Her tears stopped. She brushed them away from her face quickly before she would turn her eyes toward him. Walter came to her side and showed her his sketch. Marian stared upon it. His long strokes captured the shade and light of the balustrade, the movement of the water and with incredible care the gaze of her eyes and the gentle parting of her lips. The lead was thick where her hair was. Walter's hands had drawn Marian's hair with thick, flowing lines which showed her small curls and made shadows on her shawl. Marian held the sketch in her hands. A smile came to her face, but she still trembled. She tried not to show her distress, tried not to say out loud the pencil had replicated the mirror. Walter took the sketchbook, closed it, and placed it back under his arm.
"Now, let's proceed. One of my customers lives on the next block. Who knows, perhaps with this sketch we'll have our feast."
Marian smiled and held his arm. She felt even colder than before, stung by his words, thinking in that moment he could not possibly have been more insensitive. But she could not express her thoughts. She kept her hand upon his arm and walked in silence.
The air was brisk as they entered the square. The birds wandered aimlessly on the pavement while their faces lowered and their blackened feathers lay still on their wings. The birds cleared out of the way of those who passed them, twitching their wings. Walter pointed to the next road, past the square and onward into the city. Carriages rode by quickly on the pavement and the horses snickered to each other; their large nostrils flaring and their front legs jolting forward. The air was filled with curious aromas. Marian's eyes wandered; seeming to dart from place to place. She kept her hand comfortably on Walter's arm as they passed through. Marian's eyes fell upon the decorated window of a frock shop. She became absorbed in the momentary sight of a beautiful dress in the window. Her hand dropped from Walter's arm as they walked, causing him to look back and stop. Marian gazed into the window staring, only to dart her eyes again to a red sign in the window advertising the want for a seamstress. The gown on display was unlike any garment she had seen. The sleeves barely hung over the shoulders, yet the neck was not low. The dress was shapely, form fitting in lush, green tones and trimmed with evergreen chiffon. Small buttons decorated the sleeves and the front of the gown from the neck to the waist.
"Isn't it beautiful? I have seen this same dress in the window for some time." Walter said.
"Yes, how very curious." Marian remarked. "It's so different."
"You'll soon learn that fashion in Cumberland is quite different from fashion in London." Walter laughed. He shared the moment with Marian; staring at the green dress in the window. Walter pulled her forward, and Marian looked away from the window.
Within minutes, they came upon a residential road filled with tall, crammed apartments and boarding houses. Though they were each next to the other, everything had been designed with symmetry; elegant white facades and tall, projected windows. There were iron fences around every tree and small patches of vines creeping up the walls of the houses. These were respectable families. Passing on the walkways were couples who walked tall, confidently and proper. Women in long aprons walked out from the mews with baskets and in the same moment they appeared, disappeared down the long steps to the lower quarters. Propriety was in the grass, in every blade and root. Women wore short, tailored coats with long skirts trimmed with frills and ribbons; wonderfully colored and shaped. Young girls with flowers in their hair skipped along the path with their parents.
When her eyes met one of the women passing by, the woman looked away quickly. Marian realized that her tattered blue dress caught the eyes of the women who crossed her. Although her face shone with the same grace, and her walk just as smooth and confident as the best of them, she could feel their eyes on her. She felt their inquisitive glances stare into her face as if to classify her place by her appearance. Marian fought her instincts to glare at them in return. They would not make Marian Halcombe feel unworthy. A woman stared upon her as she passed. Marian smiled, and in two words broke the distinction which had so vigorously tried to mock her pride.
"Good Afternoon." Marian said brightly, bowing her head slightly, in the most appropriate gesture. The stares broke, the woman smiled.
"Good Afternoon!" She replied, than passed. Walter looked upon Marian, who strode next to him with an irresistible glitter in her eyes, as if she had been redeemed from the society that threatened to exile her. The jovial spirit was infectious and trapped Walter. As they approached their address, they greeted all who passed them.
Walter came to a stop.
He looked up the stairs to the house. A gold number hung above the door.
"We're here." He said. Marian held up her skirts as they ascended the stairs and came to a landing. Walter tapped the door gently with his knuckles. A servant, a well dressed older man, came to the door and his blue eyes quickly looked over Walter.
"Good Afternoon." He said calmly.
"Good Afternoon, is Mr. Aldrich at home?" Walter paused, bringing out the sketchbook from under his arm. "I am Walter Hartright."
"Oh the artist," The man said. "Yes, he's been hoping you would call. Please, do come in." He said, opening the door and standing aside, allowing Marian to pass through followed by Walter. Marian stood quietly in the small hallway, holding her shawl tightly against her chest. The servant closed the door behind them and sealed it.
"And the lady is?" He said, looking at Marian.
"This is my sister, Marian." Walter said quickly. He held Marian's arm as she greeted the kind servant.
"Right, well come this way. Mr. Aldrich will meet you in the parlor."
Walter and Marian entered the parlor. Dark velvet drapes flowed over the windows and there were paintings on every wall. Marian found her seat upon a small chair at the far end of the parlor, close to the corner. She looked at the paintings. Each one was different in its style and voice but common in that they were all landscapes. She noticed a painting hanging over the couch. Walter found his seat upon the couch and spread his paintings out upon the small table near his feet. Marian rose from her chair to get a closer look at the painting. It was a blue watercolor of a magnificent waterfall, and couples picnicking in the afternoon sun. The painting was so familiar, it seemed to bring forth a memory which through her grief, had been erased. Quiet summer breezes passed through her heart. The painting was home. It was in the village of Limmeridge.
"Oh Walter!" She cried, looking at the painting. Walter turned his head and looked as well. Marian went to the couch and leaned onto it as her fingers touched the brushstrokes of the painting; memories swarming her heart.
"You never showed me this."
"Yes, it was one of the first paintings. I sold it to Mr. Aldrich shortly after I had heard of Laura's death." He said bluntly, and with an unfamiliar casualness. Marian glanced at Walter, almost angry at his carelessness of selling away his memories of Laura. Walter looked over at the entrance to the parlor. Mr. Aldrich had entered with the servant following behind him.
"Good Afternoon." Walter smiled, rising from his seat and offering his hand.
"Mr. Hartright!" He smiled. "I was hoping you would come soon." Mr. Aldrich said, shaking Walter's hand, which was squashed within his large hand.
"I'm glad as always to be of service to you," Walter paused. "Would you care to take a look?" Walter said, gesturing to his paintings sprawled across the table.
"As soon as you introduce me to this lovely creature." Mr. Aldrich said, approaching Marian. Marian rose from her seat, awkwardly at first but catching her stance smiled gracefully and lowered her head. Walter laughed. Mr. Aldrich took Marian's hand and shook it slowly.
"Oh forgive me; this is my sister, Marian." Walter said clearly.
"You never told me you had a sister?" Mr. Aldrich said suspiciously, keeping his seasoned, flirtatious eyes on Marian. He dropped her hand. Marian resumed to her chair in the corner. Walter sat down next to his customer as the servant returned with a decanter of wine and three glasses on a tray.
"Now, show me what you have painted. I'm looking for some new art for my chamber, and I should like to buy my cousin a painting for her birthday next week. She often comes to visit and she dotes on your artwork, dear fellow. I had intended to call on another fellow, one who has just returned from Paris, but she found his new style wholly inappropriate. Apparently in Paris now take the largest stroke you can with the most unblended of color, throw it on a canvas and call it a tree! Most distasteful, she said, entirely unfinished."
"In that case I am glad to have been passing through, you know well of my work, is there anything specific you would like, sir?" Walter said, putting on his mask. Marian smiled, never before knowing the business side of Walter Hartright. She kept still and silent as she looked over the paintings. Marian could not take her eyes off of Walter. Try as she might to fix her gaze on some material object, or something shiny which a woman's eyes were certain to notice, she could not take her eyes off of him. There was something in his manner, a new, unfamiliar tone in his voice which she had not expected from his lips. He spoke with a clear, impenetrable confidence. The two men looked over the paintings, Walter explaining each one with every page. Marian accepted the glass of wine brought to her by the servant. It had been so long since her lips had savored the taste of a fine wine. She brought the glass to her lips immediately, and gracefully tipped the glass away. The wine poured into her mouth, the rich aroma wafting up into her nostrils sending a thrill of satisfaction through her famished mind. Walter pulled out his sketchbook, his potential paintings. Maria watched Mr. Aldrich look over them carefully, observing each detail and commenting on every stroke. Then almost rudely, Walter moved to reset the pile Mr. Aldrich looked through. With haste, Walter took out a pile of the sketches, which were also scattered among the blank sheets. He claimed they were all blank, and were of no use. Marian accepted this excuse as she sipped her wine quietly and had in fact, found something shiny in the window. A sculpted piece of colored glass hung on a thread in front of the window, letting in a blue glimmer onto the sheer curtain between the velvet drapes.
"My word." Mr. Aldrich cried, Marian's attention drawn back to the discussion. He held a sketch in his hands. It was the sketch which Walter had sketched on an impulse that very morning; Marian looking over the river.
"What colors would you make this?" Mr. Aldrich asked.
"The dress is blue, her hair a wonderful dark brown, almost like the brown upon the bark of a tree."
Marian's eyes darted to the two gentlemen.
"Beautiful." Mr. Aldrich. "Who is the lady who modeled this portrait?" He asked, sipping his wine. Walter fell silent for a moment, seeing a coy smile form upon Marian's face. Her face turned red and her eyes lowered, hoping not to match eyes with him. Overwhelming flattery put the shine in her eyes and in the same moment she cleared her throat, feeling even more a of a fool for not maintaining the control to overlook the flattery.
"My sister, Marian." Walter said softly.
Mr. Aldrich raised his eyes and looked at her. Marian smiled and laughed to herself. His eyes darted forth from her form, to the sketch itself. He rose from his chair with the sketch still in hand. The color left Marian's face, momentarily anxious by the look on his face; a look as if he was observing her as closely as if he were sketching her at that moment. Mr. Aldrich stood over Marian. Walter smiled and sipped his wine slowly. The expression of flattery left her face, and in its place a gaze of discomfort and slight tension.
"Hartright." Mr. Aldrich said. "I'd like you to make this a painting. You needn't worry about supplies; I shall pay you double to get yourself a decent canvas."
Walter's glass nearly fell from his lips. Double, Marian heard him whisper. The glass was placed back onto the table with a sharp sound as he rose from his place.
"Certainly sir, anything you wish!" Walter said gleefully. "Is there anything else sir?"
"No, but take care you make this painting worth while. There is something enigmatic about it, the position your sister stood, and the angle of her face, somehow you know she's not merely looking over water, but weighing something on her mind." He said to Walter, who stood beside him. Mr. Aldrich handed the sketch back to Walter. He looked gaily at Marian, a suppressed joy escaping in the form of a smile. He came to her side and took her hand. As Marian rose from her chair, thinking Mr. Aldrich's comments were simple minded, Mr. Aldrich crossed the room. Walter whispered in Marian's ear:
"What did I tell you? What luck you bring. I hope to keep you." Walter said cleverly, smiling and squeezing her hand affectionately. Marian smiled and laughed with a giggle, so unlike any laugh she had before, embarrassed again. Walter stayed by Marian's side and put his hand around her waist as Mr. Aldrich crossed the room to meet them, with a ten pound note in his hands.
"Here, Mr. Hartright." He said pleasantly, placing the money in his hands. "Get yourself a decent sized canvas, wait however long you must to get the right light, if you must. Do you think you can paint it soon?"
"As soon as you wish, sir." Walter said. Marian nodded her head in assurance. Walter put the money in his front pocket and made sure it was safe. In a business manner, Mr. Aldrich took Walter's and shook it firmly. He came to Marian. She extended her hand to him to shake, as formally and as respectably as a man. He took her hand and put it to his lips. Marian smiled, but was rather unsatisfied by it. An image of Count Fosco came to mind; a memory of the Count's lips lingering on her hand. Marian tried to control her temper, which came to her whenever she thought of the Count. She could not, for any reason, look displeased from Mr. Aldrich's kind gesture. He held her hand tightly for a moment, and his eyes looked on Marian softly, as if he were absorbed in her face.
"Thank you kindly for this painting." He whispered. Marian's face grew flushed; she lowered her eyes, hoping he would not look on her anymore, especially since her thoughts had escaped to the Count.
"Do come again," He said softly. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Hartright."
Walter took Marian's arm as the door closed behind them. They stood silent; Marian's face still showing a rosy glow. He laughed as they descended the stairs. Marian held Walter's arm closer to her as they proceeded down the pavement. She could not help but smile, and feel the residue of Mr. Aldrich's penetrating glance.
"I'm so pleased to have helped you, Walter." She smiled. Marian held one of his sketchbooks and pressed it tightly to her chest in her grasp.
"Do you want to try painting it tomorrow morning?" Walter said, with an eager tone, still feeling the weight in his pocket.
"If the weather is well." Marian said, feeling a slight chill. The night was descending and a cold breeze passed them as they walked. It would be a cold night; the kiss of winter still lingering upon the cheek of spring. The sky was streaked with gold, brilliant gold stripes which painted the deep blue sky. Over the buildings and the trees the heavy sky was shaded, the sun withdrawing from the day's warm embrace. The lamps were being lit. Shops and businesses were closing, the daily bread earned and the night's rest before them. There was a certain calm; a rhythm in the air. The horses hooves clattered on the paved roads and the tolling bells had ceased. For the first time in many weeks, a feeling of peace came upon Marian. There seemed to be nothing that rest could not achieve and nothing as precious as the man whose warm arm supported her hand.
"A man with my tastes." The Count said, sitting back onto the window ledge and brushing down the front of his waistcoat. Until this point, everything Marian had spoken was directed not to him, but in front of her, as though clearing each memory and validating its truth before uttering it aloud to herself. There were times, without a doubt, when the Count could see something behind Marian's eyes, flashes of other thoughts or perhaps other memories and details so small or so great in effect she could not articulate them.
Other times, The Count merely stared at Marian in disbelief, not by her words, but simply by her presence. Like a traveler who upon reaching the end of the road, finds it impossible he finally reached his destination, as if in one moment all of the pains and toils of the journey had disappeared. As he watched, he caught every motion she made, how when speaking of her robbery, her hands instinctively wanted to cover her neck or be sure the bodice of her dress covered her collarbone. Marian all of the sudden looked across the table, seeing one of the small plates of marmalade.
"Katie's favorite." She said gently. Fosco's eyes met hers, and in that moment he had caught the mother emerging. Marian clearly wished to have her beloved daughter in her arms at that moment, but a force stronger than her maternal instinct to run out the door and home to her child, kept her seated and looking into the Count's eyes. Marian put her hands in her lap and craned her neck across the back of the chair, tension in her shoulders releasing as the Count's beating heart quickened at the music of her sigh.
"Walter was the perfect gentleman, but there was something new." Marian paused. "I cannot look back on those times and not feel like the weight of the world hung on either of our shoulders. So much relied on the two of us staying strong."
"And he was able to help?" The Count implied.
"In his way."
It was dark when they reached the corner of their street. The calm ceased, the taverns were filled with laughing, lost souls. Still Marian felt safe on Walter's arm, as if no man would dare to harm her so long as he was beside her. These streets, however, were not ones to promenade down, and as soon as they entered the cruel territory, Walter's arm fastened around her waist. His hand had lingered upon her back, his fingertips brushing tips of her long brown locks as they found a place to hold her. It was thrilling to Marian the way his hand firmly held her waist so comfortably, as if he had seen it or felt it before. As soon as she gained control of her thoughts she kept her head low and had tried to focus. Even when walking, she could not afford to waste a minute thinking aimlessly. They had to survive; somehow, someway she had to maintain her lifestyle; so long as Sir Percival Glyde was breathing. Marian felt anxious, longing for a revelation or action which would fuel her suspicions. She wanted to break free and find Count Fosco; the man who above all she most despised. Worst still, her memory returned though sensations; feelings upon her skin which only the Count's hands must have caused. Marian closed her eyes; hoping to return to that very night and fully recollect all of the indiscretions the Count had performed.
Walter held Marian's arm, he spoke to her but she did not listen, nor could she hear his voice beneath the sound of her quickened heart. She was overcome with anger, tears of wretchedness formed in her eyes. But she would not cry. Marian raised her head, taking deep, slow breaths to calm her fraying nerves. She was set afire again, and had at once found a way through her capricious mind to a clear, straight path. The path led to Count Fosco. She would find a way to seal those lips forever, after every word had been confessed and every wrong wrought upon Laura would be justified.
Walter grasped Marian's arm, stopping her before she entered the house.
"Marian, what is it?" He said quickly. "What's troubling you?"
"The Count, Walter!" She said fiercely. "Come inside, we will speak of him later. I'll go mad if I talk of him now!" Marian said as she entered the hallway. Lucy had, as usual, taken her place on a chair next to the staircase. She rose immediately and blocked Walter as he walked toward the stairs. Marian got to look at her more closely now than before. Lucy was young. Without her rouge, her true face was almost the face of a young lady; no more than twenty-two years of age. She looked the same age as Laura. Marian suddenly felt an overwhelming pity, a quiet sadness that one so young could have resorted to such a life so soon. Walter approached Lucy on the stairs.
"Got anything for me?" She said haughtily. There was something in her voice which made her attitude seem false, as if it were nothing but a mask over her face. She stood on the third step and leaned onto the wall, her hair falling about her shoulders.
"Not today, I am to take care that my sister is well fed tonight."
"Oh Walter, don't bother!" Marian said hastily.
"No, I owe it to you." He responded. Lucy laughed and shifted her weight on the step. Lucy threw her head back and laughed momentarily.
"Isn't that sweet?" She said with sarcasm. "Well, you'll have to sleep somewhere else than."
"A moment, please." Marian said, slowly pushing Walter aside. "Lucy, Ms, I would like to ask you something."
"What?" Lucy snapped. "What do you want?"
"I want to help Walter. Can I, by any chance, help you here-
"Marian! That is out of the question." Walter cried, holding her back from Lucy and turning her into his arms.
"Let me finish, Walter," She snapped back, retreated from his arms and turning back to Lucy. "I only hope that if I were to help you maintain things here, you would no longer charge Walter to live here." She said persuasively, her voice taking a low tone which although sweet, had a quick and smooth precision. Lucy lowered her arm from the wall and looked over Marian. Her eyes looked over Marian's figure pensively, trying to seem as if she were thinking deeply about Marian's words; torturing them to wait in tiresome anticipation for her response.
"What kind of work?" Lucy said.
"Anything involving domestic chores, I can do much of anything, only I will not serve your establishment by any other means." Marian said firmly. Walter held Marian's arm again, and slowly brought her back towards him.
"Marian." He whispered. "You don't have to do this." Water stood across from her and took her hand within his.
"No, please, you must allow me to. Besides, what will I do when you go off to you customers? I don't want to be a burden to you." She said sweetly. "I will stay here, and be sure to maintain our life here until we are ready. Every penny will go to the cause."
"Very well." Lucy said, interrupting. "Agreed, you can start tomorrow." She said as she descended the step. "Good night." Lucy said, with a force which suggested her words were not sincere. Walter let go of Marian's hand. Lucy had left the room. He dropped Marian's hand, almost too quickly, as if all of the tenderness she had observed in his eyes was false. Marian looked up the stairs as Walter slowly ascended them. He smiled and extended his hand to Marian.
"Let's go, besides, we must talk." He said, still holding his hand out. Marian took his hand with slight hesitation, thinking it best to hide the sudden joy she had thought during the moment she was fixed in his gaze.
"Yes, there is much to be told."
They crossed the street and entered the crowded pub. The Four Corners Pub. Walter once again felt the need to be defensive, to keep Marian close to his side. There was a cloud of smoke over the bar area at the right and several tables spread across the left of the entrance and beyond, going further away from the street. Walter took Marian by the hand and led her beyond the bar and beyond the first gathering of tables. Marian's eyes scanned over the people's faces; poor sad souls burying their troubles into drinks. Towards the back of the pub, tables grew scarce and in their places were large, padded seats. Men sat with prostitutes on their knees, holding them upright and pouring gin down their dresses to drink off of their skin. The prostitutes laughed and stole the drinks from the men to drink themselves. Marian lowered her eyes and tried not to see the other promiscuous activities all around her. They approached a large hallway, where the pub met the kitchen. Walter slowed his pace and wrapped his arm around Marian's shoulders and turned to the right. They entered a small, congested room which had an empty table near the door to the kitchen.
"This table is always empty. No one ever eats in this place." Walter said, with laughter in his voice. He led Marian to the seat across and held the chair away for her to slide in. She smiled softly, but her smile could not persuade anyone that she was comfortable. Her face was pale, and her eyes alert and anxious; afraid of her surroundings. Walter sat down in his seat and rested his hands onto the table. He kept a steady, friendly gaze upon Marian; waiting for her to speak.
"Marian." He said calmly. Her eyes rose from the floor and fell upon Walter. She was still silent, hesitant to have to return to those days. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she dare upon her mouth.
"Walter…" She paused; making sure his attention had been caught. "I will tell you everything I know but you must promise me that we will keep this between us, we cannot risk being found out." Marian said firmly, her eyes no longer alert to her surroundings.
"I promise." Walter said quickly, reaching across the table, hoping her hand would raise and hold his in return. Her hands remained placed upon her knees, twisting her fingers in her own grip, nervously. She lowered her eyes once more and struggled to find words which would begin her painful recollections.
"First thing, I want to apologize. It's entirely my fault that things turned out this way. I'm the one who destroyed Laura's happiness. I'm the one to blame for her death!" Marian said, her voice reaching the point of breaking into sorrow.
"Oh Marian!" Walter cried, "That's not true. Speak, tell me everything that happened."
"When you left, after they were married, I was sent to Blackwater Park several days before she and Sir Percival Glyde arrived home. I was so happy to see her again, I hoped so much that this marriage would work for her and she would be happy. But when she came home, she didn't even greet me. I've never seen such hatred in her eyes before that moment. I could tell something was wrong than. I went to her room to see what was the matter and she was crying, she screamed at me and told me how unhappy she was and how brutally Sir Percival Glyde had treated her. There were bruises everywhere; I almost grew sick right at that moment. I tried to speak, but she cried so loudly and before I knew it she shoved me away. She's never called me such things, never had been so cold towards me. I was stunned, I couldn't think of anything but her pain. I ran away. I was so frightened and from that moment on I apologized every minute we were together. I earned some of her trust back, but I could tell she still did not trust me. She still did not comprehend just how sorry I was. When the winter passed, Sir Percival brought up some nonsensical document Laura was being forced to sign and I was at her side. Now up until than, I had never seen Sir Percival act viciously or threaten Laura. But everything changed, his temper flared and suddenly he ran over to strike her, but I stopped him. Count Fosco protested the whole time and tried to hold him, but nothing seemed to stop him! I was forced the throw myself over Laura to prevent another hand to be laid on her!"
"My God, Marian-" Walter cried, his head falling into his hands.
"I know this hurts you but you must hear everything," Marian said quickly. "Now that night I retired early and Sir Percival and the Count were still awake, they were planning on talking in the library before they retired for the night. I had to find out what they were saying. I snuck out onto the roof from my bedroom window and found the library window. I heard everything, but when the thunder cracked it broke their speeches and I'm afraid that what I heard doesn't make much sense."
"What did they say?" Walter said hastily.
"Sir Percival spoke of Laura's account, her twenty thousand pounds that was drawn into her will Mr. Gilmore wrote before they were married. That's what he wanted all along! Even if he had to kill her to get it!"
"Marian stop-
"No, think with my mind, don't you dare try to escape the truth!" Marian cried, reaching across the table and grasping his arm. "You know as well as I do now, Sir Percival Glyde killed her!" Marian said, a rage sneaking out in her voice. "And you say if we find Anne Catherick we can ruin Sir Percival, and we can find her. Fosco has a document he signed, saying he had a new asylum to place her in. Than his manner changed, he was just about to announce a new plan, but I slipped-
"Dear God, Marian you could have been killed." Walter cried.
"I knew the danger; I crept back into my room. It had been raining and I tried so hard not to get sick, and it wasn't long before I was settled in my room that Count Fosco knocked on the door."
"What did you do?" Walter said; his mind on edge and his face contorted with worry.
"He came with a spirit of some sort; he said it would help me get better. I protested as much as I could but I could only think that if I didn't act on this, what could he do to Laura? Than he…" Marian paused, losing her words. "He offered it to me and I took it. Within a moment I grew faint, I can't remember anything more of that night." Marian said hastily, controlling her rage.
"It must have been laced with something; no spirit could have rendered you unconscious. He must have drugged you." Walter said, analyzing the details and piecing together the clues for himself. Marian lowered her head.
"He did more than that." She whispered to herself. Marian's hands folded in front of herself, almost defensively across her breasts. She held the shawl closely to herself and tried to speak. For a moment, her fragmented memories came back, and the sensations she felt told her that the Count had allowed his hand to linger on her neck, and to fold back the closure of her gown.
"No." Walter said softly, staring at Marian's face. His eyes stared into hers, prying into her mind. Marian's face grew red. Walter rose from his chair and lifted his chair from beneath him, moving closer to her side of the table to whisper.
"Tell me." Walter whispered, "Don't be afraid." He said, holding her hand within his. A vicious look crossing his eyes that warmed Marian's heart, to see him become so enraged for her sake.
"I tried to tell myself it didn't happen, that it was only a dream, but my memories are trying to come back, so far I can only say that when I was drugged he put me onto my bed and-
"He didn't force- Walter said, finishing her sentence.
"No, thank God he didn't" Marian cried, "but… I can only remember him whispering to me...kissing me." She forced out. Marian turned away from Walter, overwhelmed with shame and anger. Marian fought her tears; she was so weary of crying.
"Did he ever make advances to you before?" Walter said.
"Yes, in different ways but Walter, you don't understand," Marian said, turning her head back towards him. "No one can know how degraded I feel knowing that that terrible man who ruined our lives happens to be the terrible man who is in love with me." She cried, leaning her head onto her hands. Walter grew silent, utterly stunned.
"That's why we must get justice, if not for Laura for me, what he did to her and to me!" Marian said. "Somehow we'll get him, if not today, than tomorrow, the next day, we will find a way. I will do whatever I must to bring both of those men to justice."
Marian heaved a great sigh of relief. She placed her hands onto the table and laid her head to rest on her arms for a moment. Walter kept his hand on her shoulder and let it linger until he rose from his place. Walter placed his chair back on the other side of the table and slowly settled himself into his place. Marian raised her head. Her face was no longer stained with tears and her eyes wandered around her. She lifted the napkin from the table and opened it onto her lap.
"What's for dinner?" She said cheerfully. Walter was lost for words, staring into Marian's face. When she finally noticed this, her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him look at her like that before.