The French Lieutenant's Woman / Любовница французского лейтенанта. Джон Фаулз

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Mrs. Poulteney's alarm at this awful news was nearly enough to sink the vicar. But he smiled.

      “My dear madam, so do most governesses. It is not their fault if the world requires such quality of them. But to return to the French gentleman. I regret to say that he did not deserve that name.”

      “Mr. Forsythe!”

      “I want to add that no misconduct took place at Captain Talbot's. Or so far as Miss Woodruff is concerned, at any place or time. But the Frenchman managed to gain Miss Woodruff's affections[39]. When his leg was mended he took coach to Weymouth, there to find a home passage[40]. Two days after he had gone Miss Woodruff asked Mrs. Talbot to allow her to leave her post. I am told that Mrs. Talbot tried to learn the woman's reasons. But without success.”

      “And she let her leave without notice[41]?”

      The vicar took his chance. “I agree – it was most foolish. But I will make my story short. Miss Woodruff joined the Frenchman in Weymouth. Her conduct should be criticized, but I am informed that she stayed with a female cousin.”

      “That does not excuse her in my eyes.”

      “Certainly not. But you must remember that she is not a lady born. The lower classes are not so accurate as ourselves. Furthermore I have forgotten to tell you that Miss Woodruff went to Weymouth because the Frenchman had promised to marry.”

      “But was he not a Catholic?”

      “I am afraid his conduct shows he was without any Christian faith. After some days he returned to France, promising Miss Woodruff that as soon as he had seen his family and got a new ship he would come back to Lyme, marry her, and take her away with him. Since then she has waited. It is quite clear that the man was a heartless deceiver.”

      “And what has happened to her since? Surely Mrs. Talbot did not take her back?”

      “Madam, Mrs. Talbot is an eccentric lady. She offered to do so. But I now come to the sad consequences of my story. Miss Woodruff is not insane. Far from it. She is perfectly able to perform any duties that may be given to her. But she suffers from grave attacks of melancholia. But also, she has a fixed idea that the lieutenant is an honorable man and will one day return to her. For that reason she may be frequently seen on the pier. I would say, madam, she is slightly crazed[42].”

      There was a silence then. The vicar hoped for chance. He felt that Mrs. Poulteney was calculating. Her opinion of herself required her to appear shocked and alarmed at the idea of allowing such a creature into Marlborough House. But there was God to be accounted to[43].

      “She has relatives?”

      “I understand not.”

      “How has she supported herself since…?”

      “I understand she has been doing a little needlework. But she has been living principally on her savings from her previous situation.”

      “She has saved, then.”

      The vicar breathed again.

      “If you take her in, madam, I think she will be truly saved.” He played his trump card[44].

      And a week later Mrs. Talbot mailed a letter of reference, which did more harm than good, since it didn't condemn sufficiently the governess's conduct. One phrase in particular angered Mrs. Poulteney. “Monsieur Varguennes was a person of considerable charm, and Captain Talbot wishes me to state that a sailor's life is not the best school of morals.” Nor did it interest her that Miss Sarah was a “skilled and dutiful teacher” or that “My infants have deeply missed her.” But Mrs. Talbot's tolerance and sentimentality finally helped Sarah with Mrs. Poulteney; they set her a challenge[45].

      So Sarah came for an interview, accompanied by the vicar. She pleased Mrs. Poulteney from the start, by seeming so cast down by circumstance. It was true that she looked what she indeed was – near twenty-five. But only her sorrow showed she was a sinner, and Mrs. Poulteney wanted her look more clearly to be in that category.

      Then, at the vicar's suggestion, she dictated a letter. The handwriting was excellent, the spelling perfect. She passed Sarah her Bible and made her read. Sarah's voice was firm, rather deep. It had traces of a rural accent, but in those days a genteel accent was not the great social requisite it later became. Perhaps it was by contrast with Mrs. Fairley's stumbling that the voice first satisfied and then charmed Mrs. Poulteney. There remained a brief interrogation.

      “Mr. Forsythe informs me that you are attached to the foreign person.”

      “I do not wish to speak of it, ma'm.”

      If any maid had dared to say such a thing to Mrs. Poulteney, the Dies Irae[46] would have followed. But this was spoken openly, without fear, yet respectfully.

      “I will not have French books in my house.”

      “I have none. Nor English, ma'm.”

      “You have surely a Bible?”

      The girl shook her head. The vicar intervened. “I will attend to that, my dear Mrs. Poulteney.”

      “I am told you constantly attend divine service.”

      “Yes, ma'm.”

      “Let it remain so. God consoles us in all adversity[47].”

      “I try to share your belief, ma'm.”

      Mrs. Poulteney put her most difficult question, one the vicar had in fact asked her not to make.

      “What if this, person returns; what then?”

      But again Sarah did the best possible thing: she said nothing, and simply bowed her head and shook it. In her favorable mood Mrs. Poulteney entered upon her good deed[48].

      It had not occurred to her, of course, to ask why Sarah, who had refused offers of work from less strict Christian souls than Mrs. Poulteney's, should wish to enter her house. There were two very simple reasons. One was that Marlborough House gave a good view of Lyme Bay. The other was even simpler. She had exactly sevenpence in the world.

      7

      In the morning, when Sam drew the curtains, Charles sat up, took off his nightcap, told Sam to throw open the windows and stared at the sunlight that went into the room. The gloom that had oppressed him the previous day had blown away with the clouds. He felt the warm spring air through his nightshirt. In the cobbled street below, a rider clopped peacefully down towards the sea. All was supremely well. The world would always be this, and this moment.

      Charles wished he could draw. Really, the country was charming. He turned to his man.

      “Upon my word, Sam, on a day like this I could never see London again.”

      “If you goes on a-standin' in the hair, sir, you won't, neither[49].”

      His master gave him a dry look. He and Sam had been together for four years and knew each other very well.

      “Sam, you've been drinking again.”

      “No, sir.”

      “ The new room is better?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Sam tested the blade of the razor on the edge of his small thumb, with an expression on his face that suggested that at any moment he might change his mind[50] and try it on his own throat; or perhaps even on his smiling master's.

      “It's that there kitchen-girl's at Mrs. Tranter's, sir. I ain't 'alf going to…”

      “Kindly

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