First Performed at the Queen’s Theatre (under the management of Mr. C. J. James), on Saturday, the 21st of February, 1863.
A new Drama of extraordinary interest, founded on the celebrated Work of the same title.
Lady Audley’s Secret!
The Interior Of Audley Court.
Bubbles caught—what a butler is expected to be—Bibbles in the way—Phœbe and her lover—Luke’s advice—
Bibbles’s dignity hurt.
Robert And George Arrive At The Court.
The first blow—what a brave heart can do—Bibbles fishes for a compliment, but gets the reverse—a woman’s smile.
The Recognition!
The Lime Tree Walk, The Meeting.
Husband and wife-—an outraged husband's wrongs cry for vengeance.
Hall In Audley Court.
Bubbles won’t be discharged—Bibbles loses his courage.
Lady Audley’s Boudoir-
The bribe—Robert seeks Lady Audley—the warning—a duel to the death.
The Castle Inn At Mount Stanning.
"This building was built of nothing but the frailest and most flimsy material.”—Luke an unfortunate individual— Bubbles down in the world.
Lady Audley comes to the Inn. The Fire! An Apartment.
Poor Bibbles—a great loss—Phœbe's discovery—a terrible suspicion —a surprise—Robert Audley you have conquered.
A Chamber
Poor Alicia—strange love making—Bibbles thinks of not the last blow struck—a surprise—“A hand stronger thanmy own is beckoning me onward upon the dark road.”
The Last Crime!
“Buried In The Grave Will Be Lady Audley's Secret.”
Bubbles, I caught you at it
I didn't go to do it, Mr. Bibbles.
You did go to do it, Bubbles; you went into my private apartment and you —
I went to put it to rights, Mr. Bibbles.
And now I've got you to rights, Bubbles. I saw you take up a decanter, fill a glass, and drink it.
Drink the glass, Mr. Bibbles ?
No evasion, Bubbles. I say, you -
I was taken suddenly so very faint.
es. You might have felt faint, but you smelt very strong of Sir Michael's choicest port.
Oh ! I wish I was a butler, that I might drink as much as you do.
You a butler! never hope to arrive at that dignified station ; a butler is expected to be a man of noble bearing and commanding figure—a butler is expected to be a man—that is, in short, such a man as I am!
Then they must be very hard to get, for I never saw such a man as you are in all my life —
And I hope I never shall again! such a pompous, domineering —
Bubbles!
Conceited, inflated, stuck up —
Bubbles !
My indignation will have vent, I can't bottle it up any longer, I will speak.
You do, and your speech is very thick ; and it isn't your indignation that is speaking—it's Sir Michael's old port! Bubbles, you took more than one glass !
One glass was all I took.
You swear it?
Yes, one glass of port—that's all—and four glasses of brandy !
I didn't swallow the bottle—and, if anybody says I did, it's a lie !
Hitherto unheard of ruffian, you are discharged !
What does that matter to such a smart young man as I am! I shall make it my business to obtain a situation with a lovely young lady with large property, and she'll fall in love with me and marry me!
If she did, she'd be sent to pass the honeymoon in a lunatic asylum! Bubbles, you are discharged—I give you warning.
You are jealous of me with Phœbe Marks, that's it!
Jealous of you ! Do you imagine Phœbe would cast a look on an
undersized footman when there is a full grown butler in the way?
Yes, you are in the way!
Phœbe Marks is Lady Audley's own maid, and a great favourite with her mistress, receiving, besides her liberal salary, handsome presents from her ladyship; in short, Phœbe is a charming creature!
Well, and so am I; so it would be a capital match.
Bubbles, you are a little man ; and as I am tall and powerful, of course I
can't be such a coward as to strike you—so, there!
Oh ! why, surely you didn't dare to —
Oh! I'll take you before a magistrate.
You've got no witnesses.
Yes I have! I'll show my bruises.
Get out!
They let me in directly I asked for Phœbe Marks, and said I were her cousin, it shows that she be somebody; but now I am here, how be I to find her in this great rambling house?
You need not search far, Luke, for here I am.
Ah! you didn't come to look after me, so I thought I'd best see after you. I come across through the fields, and in at the gate agen the moat, and up to the back door of the house.
1 can see the well from my bed room window, and happening to be at that window I saw you approaching, and immediately hurried to meet you, for we were, you know, playmates in childhood, and now are sweethearts.
Yes, and we are bound to marry one another, you know.
You don't seem over pleased about it?
Like your missus, eh ? But 'taint every poor girl, merely because she happens to have been born pretty, that is lucky enough to find an old fool of a rich baronet to fall in love with and marry her.
And Sir Michael perfectly doats on her; she has just as much money as she chooses to ask for.
Ay, it's a fine thing, Phœbe, to have lots of money, and I hope you'll be warned by that, my lass, to save up your wages agen we get married.
And what was Miss Graham, now Lady Audley, only three months ago, when she lived in Mr. Dawson's house? nothing but a governess, a servant like me, taking small wages, and working for them as hard, or harder than I did. You should have seen her shabby clothes, Luke, worn and patched, and turned and twisted, yet always looking nice upon her somehow, and now she is a great lady.
Never you mind her, take care of yourself, Phœbe! that's all you've got to do. What should you say to a public house for you and me by-and-by my girl ? There's a deal of money to be made out of a public house.
Unless it happens to be a losing speculation,
And I should think you'd soon get tired of this mortal dull place—I've heard tell of a murder that was done here in old times.
Oh, Luke! don't talk like that, or I shall fancy I see a ghost in every dark
comer of the old house—
Yes, yes, you go to her ladyship, stick close to her, and seem very fond of her; because the more you can, get out of her, the better I shall like you, you know.
Phœbe's getting quite a fine lady here; but I'll soon cure her of that
complaint arter she's my wife. Let's see, which way did I come in,
Enter Bibbles and Bubbles, L.
It's no use trotting at my heels, like a poodle; I tell you, it's no use, Bubbles, you are discharged.
Luke,
Fellows !
One of you fellows, I say; which is the way out of this queer old house.
How did you get in?
What's that to you ?
Intolerable impertinence; but never mind now how you got in, you shall be turned out.
Luke,
What's the matter?
Turn the vagabond out!
Yes;
You—
If all the servants are such animals as these, I shall never get out of the
place.
Oh, Mr. Bibbles!
Oh!, here's an outrage—a common servant leaning against a butler!
I do feel so weak and ill, Mr. Bibbles!
You're drunk, Bubbles.
Do, please, carry me up stairs and put me to bed.
I'll put you in the horsepond! wretch, remove your ignoble carcass from my dignified shoulder, this moment, or ——
Oh, Phœbe, lovely Phœbe !
Ah !
-Well, George, here we are, arrived at last at my brave old uncle's mansion,
and though I did not say in my letter to him that I should bring you with me,
as, indeed, how could I ? for I did not so unexpectedly run against you till the
day after that letter was written, yet for all that, I say I can promise you a
hearty welcome from Sir Michael Audley; and his young wife cannot, so soon,
prove otherwise than amiable, for, as I have already told you, my uncle has
lately married, for the second time, with a mere girl, as young almost, or
quite, as his daughter by his first marriage; but
I know you to possess as true a heart as ever throbbed within a human breast, and would not afflict you with the relation of a sorrow you can do nothing to alleviate.
Is then, true sympathy nothing?
Heavens ! my poor friend, I—I did not mean that you —
And did it not ?
I could obtain nothing, and when tired out and down-hearted, I returned to my wife, and told her that I had failed in everything, she burst into a storm of sobs and lamentations, telling me that I ought not to have married her if I could give her nothing but poverty and misery, and that I had done her a cruel wrong in making her my wife.
Robert,
By heavens, Robert ! her tears and reproaches drove me almost mad, and I rushed from the house, declaring that I would never enter it again.
Well?
Well, I flew into the open country, and there dashed myself despairingly on the ground, after a while I grew calmer and could think, and suddenly I remembered that in India I had a relative, a wealthy merchant, and I resolved to go to him; I wrote a few brief lines to my wife which told her that I never had loved her better than now when I seemed to desert her; that I was going far from her to try my fortune, and that if I succeeded I should come back to bring her plenty and happiness, but that if I failed I should never look upon her face again. I did not leave her to hopeless poverty, for she had still her jewels, her trinkets, while I—but, no matter, no matter now
And in India, you succeeded ?
Not till I had long despaired of success, for the relative to whom I went was
a hard man, and made of me one of his clerks—with the poor wages of a clerk,
that was all; but was'nt I toiling for my darling ? Through all that dreary
Brave fellow !
With the little money which I had saved, I commenced to speculate on my own account, fortune attended my every venture, and at last I awoke one morning to find myself with twenty thousand pounds, and more—and a week after was on board a vessel to return to England, and as I madly believed, to the darling of my life.
But in all that time did vou never write to your wife?
Never, till a week before the vessel set sail; I waited for good fortune, and
when that came, I wrote, telling her that I should be in England almost as soon
as my letter, and giving her an address where to find me—and I returned, as I
hoped and believed, to her love and to a life's happiness, and I find her dead.
Helen, my Helen, my wife, my darling, my only love! dead ! dead !
George, there may have been some other Helen Talboys ?
No, no, my wife is dead! I know it but too well, for two days' since I stood
beside her grave, and upon her tombstone read my darling's name !
My poor fellow, what can I say to comfort you ?
Nothing,
Whither are you going, George ?
Out into the air, here I am stifled ! stifled!
You will presently return to the house ?
Yes, yes, have no fear for me ; I shall not lay hands on my life, I would
pray to heaven, not outrage it. Oh, Helen ! Oh, my wife ! dead! dead!
Poor George ! how he grieves; and yet, judging her by his own report, she could not have been a very devoted wife, nor have loved him much, as it appears to me ; but then, of course, I know nothing about it, for I am not a married man—but I suppose that some day I must come to it, though I shall endeavour to put off the evil time as long as possible.
Enter Bibbles, R.
Mr. Robert Audley, I have the honour to be your most obedient very humble servant —
Jonathan Bibbles, as usual, I know all about it.
Heard of your arrival, and was delighted. We have always a hearty welcome for
your uncle's nephew,
Robert,
You are looking remarkably well, sir; do you think I am at all altered ?
Not at all, Mr. Bibbles; you are as great a fool as ever !
He, he, he—you are always so comical, sir.
Weren't you surprised, Mr. Audley, when you heard of your uncle's marriage ?
No, Bibbles, I always felt certain that my uncle would some day marry again, and why should he not ?
Ah !
A touch! Sir, I have got enough of it to knock me down!
But my marriage, if ever it does take place, will not dispossess my nephew, who always looked forward to be my heir; because you see, Mr. Audley, I haven't got a nephew—my nearest relation in the world is my father's mother's sister's daughter's husband; and goodness knows what relationship that is, for I don't.
You rascal! how dare you ?
I am sure I humbly beg your pardon, sir. I didn't mean to ——
Begone, unless you are anxious to be kicked!
Well, sir, I'm not; 1 don't mind kicking others, but I don't like to be kicked myself; and you must excuse me, for I very often don't know what I am talking about since I have fallen in love with a charming creature, a great favourite with her mistress, receiving, besides her liberal salary, handsome presents from her ladyship.
If you are not gone —
Mr. Robert Audley, I have the honour to be your most obedient, very humble —
(laughing) I didn't suppose you would, and, no doubt, you and my lady, your young stepmother, go at it hammer and tongs. I hope you won't quarrel or say unpleasant things to each other at the dinner table—rows always upset a man's digestion.
I don't like her; shouldn't, I think, if she were not my stepmother ? I don't like her eyes—something strange and sinister in their expression, I think !
Well, when I have seen her I will tell you.
And to think how my poor foolish father doats on her—a man at his time of life ought to know better.
(laughing) What! know better than be fond of his wife ?
Don't be aggravating, Robert, come along.
Not yet; a friend came with me whom I must go and look for.
A friend!
Yes, a poor fellow who has lately lost his wife and—
Well, I will go with you in search of this interesting widower!
Yes, Alicia !
Of course, now you have come to us at last, you intend to stay with us a good long time!
No, cousin, I must return to town to-morrow morning.
Oh !
I get good tobacco; Audley is the dearest old place, but when a man has to smoke dried cabbage leaves, you know —
What did you say, Alicia ?
Nothing, you stupid log.
Ah, Lucy, I know that I am growing old, that my
Why should you wish that, when I so love you as you are—you are so good, so noble and generous; there are women a hundred times my superiors in beauty and goodness who might love you dearly !
You are the delight of my life—where'er you go you carry joy and brightness with you—all love, admire, and praise you.
You are the best and sweetest creature that ever lived, and I the most blessed of men in having won you to be my wife. Till I saw you I had never loved. My marriage with Alicia's mother was but a dull, jog-trot bargain, made to keep an estate in the family that would have been just as well out of it.
Could I forbear to love the man who sought me that he might raise me to an eminence beyond the hope of e'en my wildest dreams! Oh, I sometimes doubt if it be really true, that the poor humble governess, Lucy Graham, is now indeed the great Lady Audley!
Would that I could have given you a kingdom with my love !
Yes, dear uncle, it is really and positively your nephew.
Nonsense, do you think I don't know better than fall in love with my aunt ?
What are you two chattering about there ?
Why—why—oh, uncle, I hope you will pardon
Any friend of yours, sir, would, I am sure, be welcome here.
He knows that, the rogue; but who is he, Robert— do I know him ?
No, uncle; and poor fellow, you will not find him very entertaining company I fear, for his wife is lately dead, and ——
He had but just returned from the Indies, when ——
The unhappy man shall receive from us every consideration. What is his name ?
George Talboys.
My dear George, it was no false promise when I told you that here you would
find a hearty welcome—my uncle, Sir William Audley.
Great heavens!
I am mad ! oh, surely, I am mad!
Robert, give your arm to Lady Audley.
Oh, certainly—delighted. Lady Audley, if you will allow me ?
You say that in a tone as if you had expected some one else, and that my presence is a disappointment to you.
How came you to seek me here ?
You fled from us so abruptly; and as her ladyship hurried to her room immediately afterwards, to dress for dinner, as she said, I availed myself of the opportunity to seek you everywhere about the grounds, and at last you see —
George, you are expecting some one; must I tell you?
Tell me nothing, but leave me—delay not a moment I entreat you, and swear to me that you will not linger near this spot—that you will neither watch nor listen!
George, do you then believe me capable of —
I believe nothing, but if you would we should continue friends.
Enough! it is a strange request, but I pledge to you my honour that I will in this obey your wishes.
You promise me that you will presently return to the mansion ?
Yes.
Adieu, then !
Ah! woman, devil, or whate'er you are —
Hold! let us endeavour to commence calmly.
Calmly ! are you not my wife ?
I was! the wife whom you deserted—abandoned !
No, 'tis false ! you know it, I but fled from you in the hope I might return and make you wealthy.
Listen to me. After your departure, I vainly sought employment—a wife whom her husband had deserted could not be innocent of all fault—and no one would receive me as the instructress of their children, I was penniless- helpless—hopeless; before me was starvation or a repulsive life of infamy! I shrunk from both and resolved to live anew, and for myself alone. I ceased to be Mrs. George Talboys, forgot even that I had ever been Helen Maldon, and became Miss Lucy Graham. For a miserable stipend I toiled as a governess, was seen, admired, and loved by Sir Michael Audley, he offered me his hand, weary of poverty and drudgery, fixed in the belief that you would never return to claim me, I became Sir Michael's wife.
Oh! infamy !
Scarcely was I married when your letter reached me, it told me you were about to quit India, named the time when I might expect once more to behold you. What did I then ? not groan and tear my hair, no ! I hastened to my birthplace, I knew that there, a young girl, a playmate of my childhood, was dying rapidly of consumption. She did die. Her mother for a heavy bribe, consented that the girl should be buried in my name. I then caused to be inserted in the papers the announcement of my own death, and if you have visited the grave, you have seen the words, "Helen Talboys," written on its tombstone.
Oh! horrible! and this the woman I have so wildly loved, who wantonly, for her own wild, selfish ends, has driven me to despair.
The past cannot be recalled ; the wealth and splendour I have attained I will not lose. Go then, let us forget each other; you shall share always of the riches at my command—I will do anything sooner than abandon the wealth and the position I have won, and go back to my old life.
You offer me wealth. I am worth twenty thousand pounds—'twas all for you—for you! and now —
Is it, then, mere revenge you seek ? to crush the woman whom you have loved—who has been your wife.
While I live I will never forgive you for the lie that has broken my heart.
You have plucked it from my breast, have trampled upon it, and now—I have no
heart in which to feel one sentiment of mercy for you. I would have forgiven you
any wrong but this one deliberate and passionless
You go not yet.
Your infamous cunning shall no longer avail you ; by heaven! if there were but one witness of your identity, and that witness were removed from Audley Court by the width of the whole earth, I would bring him there to swear to your identity and to denounce you.
Ah!
Don't stagger after me, intoxicated wretch ! you have your discharge—have received your wages—you are no longer servant here—go!
Not without a written character for honesty and sobriety; besides, why should we separate ? I forgive you all the injuries you have inflicted on me!
Injuries!
Those kicks, you know; you will not be doing your duty as a respectable butler if you discharge the most sober and industrious servant in the establishment.
If you don't instantly get out —
I won't go till you pay me my wages!
Rascal ! I have paid you!
Yes, but there was no witness, and I gave you no receipt, so I shall swear I have never received a farthing; and you'll have to pay me again!
Why, you —
I'll teach you what it is to take the bread out of an honest man's mouth.
I'm perfectly paralyzed!
A steady and hard-working young man that is always on his legs—down early and up late!
Yes, I know you have a cast in your eye, but I won't allow you to squint at her—she shall be mine as soon as ever I can get her; and, oh ! don't I wish I may get her.
Will you be mine, Phœbe Marks ?
Phœbe Marks, no;
You presume upon your majestic figure, but though little, I am brave,
EnterMartin, L.
Phœbe Marks, indeed, who is she I wonder, that you should quarrel about her !
Phœbe Marks is a charming creature, a great favourite with her mistress, receiving besides her liberal salary, handsome presents from her ladyship.
Well, she is engaged to be married !
Not yet, Martin, for I haven't yet found courage to propose to her.
No, more have I.
Silence, you Bubbles!
1 shall talk as long as I like, Bibbles!
Yes, you are very plain, Bibbles!
Say Mister Bibbles.
Not now I'm discharged!
Ignorant brute!
I tell you, Phœbe Marks is engaged to be married to her cousin Luke.
Look, look where ?
It's as true as that my name is Martin.
No, no, it won't do, Martin; I can't swallow that.
You will have to do it though.
It can't be, she has often looked at me, and must have perceived what a superior man I am.
You are, Mr. Bibbles; the man she is about to marry, is a rough, dissipated savage.
And she might have had me, a quiet, sober, young man.
If I but knew him.
You do, he was here this morning, and told me that you two talked about turning him out, and that if you had attempted it, he would have killed you both.
That ruffian! then I shall have nothing to do with him.
Nor I neither.
You had better not, for I tell you he is a savage, and always carries a knife about with him, which he uses without any ceremony.
Bibbles and Bubbles. Oh!
For a longer period than that—
Cut off a steady, sober —
Kill me in cold blood !
When he's in a passion.
Oh!
Oh !
Support me, Bubbles!
Hold me up, Bibbles !
Luke,
Alicia,
I may not be so amiable as you are, my lady, and I may not have the same sweet smiles and pretty words for every stranger I meet; but I am not capable of a contemptible meanness,—and even if I were, I think you are so secure of my father's love, that nothing but your own act will ever deprive you of it.
Ah! Phœbe—oh, stay Alicia; has Mr. Robert Audley heard yet anything of the
friend who so suddenly deserted him ? I
Mr. George Talboys.
I don't think I can love him. We have been together from children—my mother
almost reared him—I was but fifteen when she died, and almost with her last
breath she exacted from me a promise that I would marry Luke, and now I daren't
refuse to be his wife. When a boy, he was always violent and revengeful. I saw
him once take up a knife in a
He would like to take a public house, my lady. If you would see him now —
He is then at hand? oh, by all means let him enter, and he shall take a public house, and the sooner he drinks himself to death the better.
Young man, your marriage with Pheebe is agreed upon, and I shall give you
fifty pounds.
Luke,
Oh ! thank you, my lady.
Lady Audley!
Ah!
Lady Audley, heaven knows I wish to be merciful, that I would willingly spare you, but justice must be done. Shall I tell you why you are nervous in this house, my lady ?
Yes, haunted by the ghost of George Talboys.
He was a stranger to you, my lady, was he not ?
What could he be to me but a stranger ? But if he be dead I'm sorry for him. If he lives I have no wish either to see him or to hear of him.
Lady Audley, that announcement in the newspapers of his wife's death, which struck my poor friend to the heart, was a cruel lie, a base and cowardly blow in the dark— it was the treacherous dagger-thrust of an infamous assassin.
George Talboys' wife is still alive.
You are mad.
And you, my lady, you are she.
By what right do you dare ?
The evidence I have collected against you wants only one link to be strong enough for your condemnation, and that link shall be added. I will spare no trouble in completing the chain, unless —
Unless the woman I wish to save from degradation and punishment accepts the mercy I offer her, and takes warning while there is time.
She would be a very foolish woman if she suffered herself to be influenced by any such absurdity. If you choose to insist that I am Helen Talboys, you may—I shall not attempt to hinder you.
Then you will be able to bring some one forward who can identify you with the past ?
If I were placed in a criminal dock I could, no doubt, bring forward witnesses to refute your absurd accusation. But I am not in a criminal dock, Mr. Audley, and I do not choose to do anything but laugh at your ridiculous folly !
It is to be a duel to the death, then, my lady?
I do!
So be it, then, my lady. I last saw my friend George Talboys in the lime-tree walk, and left him as I saw you approaching to join him; he was seen by others to enter those gardens, but he was never seen to leave them—I do not believe that he ever did leave. I believe that he met with his death within the boundary of those grounds, and that his bodv lies hidden below some quiet water, or in some forgotten corner of that place. I will have such a search made as shall level this house to the earth, and root up every tree in those gardens, rather than I will fail in finding the grave of my murdered friend!
Ah !
What will you do? What need I fear from one who has lost his wits?
That question will be answered when you stand upon the scaffold, "Murderess!"
Hold your noise and sit down.
Wait till I light my pipe,
Why, let the candle alone; what do you keep shaking it about for ?
Bah.
Oh!
And you have broken a pipe. No wonder the bailiffs are going to sell me up to-morrow, when people come into my house and destroy my property in this audacious manner.
Yes, Mr. Marks; there's been an inve—inve— a what dy'e call it—on your goods, and I'm the man in possession.
Curse this house ; I might have done some trade, 1 dare say, only I've always had the blue-devils ever since I came to it, it's so dull, so I was obliged to drink up my own liquors to keep up my spirits.
Seems to me that that was the way to lower 'em.
And when I'm drunk I'm apt to be quarrelsome, and so I frightened away the few customers there was, and now I'm to be sold up for nine pound rent.
And I'm the man in possession ; a most degrading occupation for a sober and
industrious young man. Where's the brandy ? no—I drunk that last; where's the
gin ? no— I'll have some beer this time,
Sold up for nine pounds !
I had a kind of hankering after Phœbe, she's a pretty girl; and to think that she should marry such an awful ugly fellow as you are.
You mustn't, my good man; it's against the law to strike a man in possession.
Hold your tongue, then: 'taint long since Lady Audley sent me the money to pay the brewer; but I didn't pay him though. I went about among my friends, and spent the money that way.
That beer don't agree with me. I must have a drop more gin.
It's worth someut to know someut that you didn't ought to know.
It was through Phœbe that I lost my place— nothing else; for, as 1 was a
steady, sober, young man—I don't like that gin, where's the brandy ?
No; I won't drop the bottle. I should spill it, and break the brandy.
Bah !
Yes; and when I woke, I should find you had bolted with all the furniture,
Hush; Luke, not so loud.
I was not thinking of him : but Mr. Robert Audley is yonder, in his room
Oh, he is fast asleep long ago, was as tired as a dog he said, and wanted to be up early to-morrow. I asked him to sit down here a bit, but he wouldn't, and went off to bed.
So much the better.
Rather strange, when Mr. Robert Audley is so handy to Audley Court that he should take up his quarters in our ricketty place ; there's a reason for it, no doubt—something the matter between him and my lady I fancy.
Yes, Luke, I—I think so.
You jade, you know so; he told us that he had an objection to going to Audley Court just now, and so as he didn't want to leave the neighbourhood for a day or two he came here.
Yes, Luke, we know all that, but —
None of your sarce! where's the nine pound to pay the rent?
. My lady has promised to settle the business for us, and she's coming down here to see about it to-night, Luke.
What?
My lady coming here to-night!
Yes, Luke, she said that she would follow me immediately, and —
Ah ! I know,
,
I have come to pay him and to send him about his business.
Oh! curse her kindness! it ain't her kindness as we wain, gal, it's her money. She won't get no snivellin' gratitude from me. Whatever she does for us she does because she is obliged, and if she wasn't obliged she wouldn't do it.
Nine pounds.
I have the receipt all ready,
Sign this—there's your money!
Which paper am I to sign? seems to me there's two or three of 'em.
What's your name ?
William Bubbles.
Here then,
It don't seem to me to be very plain!
How do you spell Bubbles ?
B-u-ebbles.
That's only a blot.
Never mind, 'twill do, there are plenty of witnesses— here—
I shan't! I shall go home, I know I've nothing more to do with your goods and
chappels, but as far as your beer, and your brandy, and gin are concerned—why as
to them, you see
You mustn't go home alone, my lady, you'll let me go with you ?
Yes, yes, you shall go home with me, and remain until morning dawns, if your husband—
Oh, indeed! Well, Phœbe, now let us go.
What is it, my lady ?
I had forgotten something very particular which 1 have yet to say to your brute of a husbaud.
I will fetch him to you, my lady.
But, my lady —
Go, I tell you! That which I have to say to Luke is for his ear alone, and I
must be certain that you are not within hearing.
'Tis done ! a short while and this house, my enemies, too, will be ashes. Now
I must hasten and rejoin
What the devil was that? something seemed to—
The old house is on fire,
I'm a bereaved butler.: I've lost a charming creature, a great favourite with
her mistress, receiving, besides her liberal salary, handsome presents that—oh!
isn't it an affliction; I know no longer what I'm about. Sir Michael asks for
vinegar and I give him pepper. Well, and why shouldn't I—goodness knows that
Phœbe Marks has given me pepper; what I suffer nobody knows, I don't know
myself, I'm falling away to a skeleton ; in the first week of Phœbe's marriage,
it's a positive fact that I lost seven stone and a half—seven stone and a half
of my manly flesh—and I have every reason to believe that that's been going on
ever since, and when a man comes to lose seven stone and a half a week for
upwards of two months, just consider what that must reduce him to.
Enter Martin,R.
Poor Mr. Bibbles, how can you go on fretting in this way about Phœbe Marks, who never cared a straw for you! I didn't think you were so weak, Mr. Bibbles.
Yes, I am weak Mr. Bibbles; and so would you be weak, if you had lost seven stone and a half for nine weeks together—nine times seven are sixty-three, and nine halves— Oh, the total is something awful!
I can't think what could make you so fond of her.
She was a charming creature, receiving, besides her liberal, handsome salary, presents that —
I am afraid you are mercenary, Mr. Bibbles.
Not at all; it's my feelings—how am I to get them back ? how am I to recover
the seven stone and a half a week that I—when shall I be again the fine, portly
man that I used to be ? Oh !
It's all fancy, Mr. Bibbles; there is not the slightest difference in you.
Nonsense, nothing of the sort. I am sorry you should drive me to make an indelicate observation, but where's my stomach? What has become of my noble stomach ?
Why, there it is, as rotund as ever!
Nonsense, I tell you, I know better. No stomach that was ever born could—no, it couldn't sustain unmoved for two months a weekly loss of seven stone and a half!
There never was a man more proud of his stomach; and to see it reduced to a
mere skeleton of an abdomen—I never know now that I have got a stomach at all,
except at dinner-time ; I'm very miserable, and so low that when I'm in the
cellar, bottling, I'm sure to be deeply affected,
Oh! what will become of me!
What is the matter with you, Mr. Bibbles?
A charming creature, receiving besides her liberal mistress, salary presents.
Don't be a fool, Mr. Bibbles.
You are in sorrow, Miss Alicia; it can't be so great as mine—you haven't lost seven stone and a half a week for —
Bibbles, you are an idiot,
How sweet to us in grief is the sympathy of our fellow creatures—especially
of our superiors. Oh ! Phœbe, charming salary, receiving besides her liberal
creature, handsome Lady Audley from her presents. Oh !
My lady! my lady!
What is the matter?
There is a fire! a fire, my lady!
Yes, I am afraid it is a fire—at Brentwood, most likely—at any rate, it is
nothing to us.
Oh! my lady, it's nearer, much nearer, it's at Mount Stanning!
What's too horrible ?
The thought that's in my mind,—the dreadful thought that's in my mind.
Why did you go up to the castle to-night, my lady? you who are so 'bittered against Mr. Audley and against Luke, and who knew that they were both under that roof? As there is a heaven above me, I think you went to that place to-night on purpose to set fire to it !
I don't mind your cruel words, my lady—I don't mind anything if I'm wrong.
You are surprised to see me, my lady! Do you know how I escaped perishing in the fire last night at Mount Stanning?
I did not sleep in the room that had been prepared for me, so that the door
of that room was double locked to no purpose. The place seemed wretchedly damp
and chilly, and the chimney smoked abominably, and I persuaded the servant to
make me up a bed upon the sofa in the small ground floor sitting room which I
had occupied during the evening.
Bring Sir Michael! bring him here, and I will confess everything—everything!
what do I care ? Heaven knows I have struggled hard enough against you, and
fought the battle patiently enough, but you have conquered, Mr. Robert Audley.
It is a great triumph is it not ? a wonderful, victory! You have used your cool,
calculating, frigid,madwoman.
A madwoman?
Yes! when you say that I killed George Talboys, you say the truth. When you
say that I murdered him treacherously and foully, you lie—I killed him because
I am mad! because when George Talboys goaded me, as you have goaded me,
and reproached me, and threatened me, my mind never properly balanced, utterly
lost its balance, and I was mad! Shall I tell you where you may find the mangled
body of your friend ? at the bottom of the well in the old lime tree walk. Now
bring in Sir Michael, and let him rightly know the woman he has wedded, let him
know that she is a bigamist, an incendiary and a murderess! let him know too
that she is mad ! that she is mad !
Robert has entirely deserted me, fallen in love with some one else, I dare say. As if it wasn't always expected that a cousin was to fall in love with his cousin, when his cousin is a female cousin, I mean. If I had known that he intended never to propose to me, I might have turned my attention to somebody else! Oh ! the wretch, why did he make himself so agreeable, and compel me to fall in love with him, if he never intended to marry me.
Alicia, my dear, where is Sir Michael?
My father! in the library, I believe. Goodness, what is the matter with you? You look so doleful—that is enough to make one burst into tears only to look at you!
Nonsense, Alicia; there is nothing the matter with me except that —
Yes, you?
Nothing!
Nothing?
Yes,that is all that is the matter with me, I assure you.
I know better, sir; the wax doll has struck you !
Do you know, sir, that I have many admirers; that I might, if I liked, marry half-a-dozen young gentlemen ?
No you might not; there is an Act of Parliament which expressly forbids such terrible immorality !
How silly!
Yes, very silly—I quite agree with you. But you mean, I suppose, that there are fellows in love with you; and I am not at all surprised, for you are a fine, generous-hearted, bouncing girl!
I don't like to be called bouncing; I hate to be thought a bouncer. I know you would think more of me if I were pale and consumptive.
Well, then, can't you contrive to procure an interesting inflammation of the lungs ? Alicia, I am your cousin ; so consider me your brother.
I don't want a brother.
No ; because you would not be allowed to marry your brother. Alicia, if you have set your heart on being my wife, say so ; for in that case it would become my duty —
I don't want a dutiful husband: I want one that would love me.
Well, I love you —
You do ?
Have always loved you —
You have ?
In the most cousinly manner; and, of course, if you wish it, I will marry you.
You will ?
Some day: and you will have to wait; I can't tell how long? for just now I have something far more important to attend to.
But, Robert, —
Don't detain me, I must seek Sir Michael.
Yes; but —
He wants me to wait till the spring-time of my life is gone; but now that it
is arranged that we are to be married, it is for me to fix the day; and I'll
name an early one, and if he objects, I'll have half-a-dozen stout men to carry
him to church.
A charming creature ! her lady is a great favourite, receiving, besides her present mistress, a handsome—oh ! the more I think of it, the more I feel the loss I have sustained— young women with a little bit of property are so very scarce.
Yes, and my heart is frozen out. Oh! Phœbe Marks!
Why grieve now that she is lost to you for ever ?
You don't know what a cruel blow it is, to be disappointed when you have set your heart on a charming creature, who, receiving besides —
Yes, I know,but there are other charming creatures who having been careful of their wages and perquisites, have a nice little bit of money.
I don't care about money, but such a man as I am ought not to go to any woman for nothing; and when I hear of sensible females who have saved some money, I always wish that I could marry them all, and take them and their property in a lump. But where find these charming creatures ?
Well, here is one of them.
You ? you have saved a sum of money ?
Yes, I have lived in this service almost from my childhood, and have been very careful.
Martin, my dear, I have long entertained a secret affection for you.
For Phœbe you mean ?
Never I what do I care for the poor burnt-out wretch ? My grief for her loss was all a pretence, because my manly pride could not endure that you should behold a love I feared you could never requite.
Why should you fear that, and you in such a responsible situation, and such a fine and portly man.
I was, till I lost my
If I must confess it, I have long entertained a partiality for you, Mr. Bibbles.
And you are the girl that I have all my life been looking for.
Your noble presence, your dignified bearing —
Your sparkling eyes, and the bit of money you have saved —
I always said my husband should be a fine, tall, stout man.
And I made up my mind that my wife should be a little creature, timid as a
fawn, and slim and delicate as a clothes prop. Come to my majestic arms,
Oh! here's goings on. Is it part of a butler's duty to cuddle the female domestics ?
What business have you here? None at all with this young lady of property, I am quite certain.
No, for I see that it's you who are the man in possession.
What do you want?
I thought you wouldn't bear malice, and as I am out of place—nobody seems to know when they have got a steady, and sober young man !
Why you are drunk now !
That's to celebrate my return to sobriety, for I left off drinking half an hour ago, and I'll never drink any more !
Give him one more trial ?
At this blissful moment I can refuse you nothing, dearest!
And you shall find that I'll be sober every day of my
life—
How is Luke Marks ?
Dead! burnt and crushed; couldn't get over it. I am sorry to say he was far from being a sober young man !
Oh ! gracious, then, Phœbe is now a widow !
Well, Mr. Bibbles, what is that to you ?
Nothing my love, merely an observation, nothing more,
I cannot hear any more of this terrible secret which, now revealed to me,
must embitter all the years yet left to me. Robert, you will not act too harshly
with her whom I have thought—my wife. You will remember in all you do, that I
have loved her very dearly and truly. I cannot say farewell to her. I can but
pity her, as I now pray that heaven may pity her.
My uncle may believe that you are insane—I do not deem you mad, but dangerous; yet, for all our sakes, madness shall be supposed the excuse for your crimes, and the rest of your life shall pass in the mad woman's proper home.
A lunatic asylum, my lady.
No, no, not that, oh, heaven! not that.
It is a fate too merciful for you—double murderess, that you are!
Double murderess ?
Yes, Luke Marks is dead of the hurts received in the fire you kindled.
Ah! but you shall not take me to a madhouse— I will not be buried while yet
alive—I would laugh at you and defy you if I dared. I would kill myself and defy
you if I dared. But I am a poor pitiful coward, and have been so from the first,
afraid of my mother's horrible inheritance, afraid of poverty, afraid of George
Talboys, afraid of you; but you shall not take me to a madhouse, you shall not!
you shall not!
I will do that which I think just to others and merciful to her—I will give her time and opportunity for repentance.
Robert! Robert I dear friend.
Yes, yes, dear friend,
I have mourned you as dead; believed that your wife—but, where have you been ? Why did she confess to having slain you, if—oh I can it be true that she is mad indeed.
Luke Marks rescued me, with much difficulty, from the well into which I had fallen, after receiving the murderous blow intended for my slaughter; he conveyed me to his home, and there I have languished until now, his prisoner. His death has set me free.
And why—why ——
That he might have power o'er my wife—I mean o'er Lady Audley. Oh ! Robert, you will be silent I could not bear to see her perish shamefully. I will return to foreign climes, and leave her to the wealth and splendour she has sinned so horribly to obtain.
Oh! too late, too late for that; to Sir Michael she has confessed her guilt—and now —
Helen, let it comfort you to know that you have failed in your dreadful purpose—that I pardon you, and will go where you may never more behold me—where I shall be as though I were, indeed, dead to you !
Talk not to me thus; it is to mock my agony, for I am dying!
Dying!
Your threat